


Paint it Black

by crystallopianqueen



Series: Paint it Black [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, F/M, Feels, Horror, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Mad Science, Mentor/Protégé, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Rescue Missions, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Suspense, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallopianqueen/pseuds/crystallopianqueen
Summary: The Avengers are broken and scattered across the globe after the events of Civil War. But when Peter Parker is taken by the very worst of humanity, Tony Stark will do whatever it takes to get him back, even if it means hunting down former friends and enemies to do it. (A rewrite, originally posted on my Fanfiction.Net account.)





	1. Bad Company

**Author's Note:**

> Like it says in the summary, I already posted this story in its completion on Fanfiction, but I saw many things that can be improved, and things I wanted to add to it. So as I slowly rewrite/edit/add to it, I will be posting it here. :)

**Chapter One: Bad Company**

**Peter Parker**

“I think MJ likes you.”

I shoot Ned a sharp look, heat rising to my cheeks against my will. “ _What_?”

“I think she likes you. You know, _likes_ you likes you.”

“I heard what you said. Why are you saying it?”

Ned opens his mouth to reply but trips over the uneven sidewalk. My hand shoots out automatically to grip his upper arm, steadying him before he face plants. He sends me a grateful look and adjusts the straps of his backpack.

“Dude, she watches you, like all the time. And sketches you. And talks about you when you aren’t around. Either she’s planning on stalking and killing you, which, by the way, I think she’s _highly_ capable of doing, or she likes you,” Ned nods to himself, like he has solved some great mystery.

I open my mouth to reply, then close it again, trying to will the flush on my skin away. I choose not to examine the fluttering of nerves in my stomach at his words, or the way I stand up straighter like I am pleased with myself. Because MJ and I are just friends, aren’t we? And Ned...he’s probably wrong. There’s no way she likes me. Not that way. She’s just eccentric. I’m sure she sketches lots of boys from our high school. I also choose not to examine the sour taste _that_ thought leaves in my mouth.

“Peter, you’re blushing.”

“I am not!” I protest immediately as we pause before a busy intersection and join the small group of people already gathered waiting for the light to change. Apparently the volume of my denial was rather loud, because an older woman looks over her shoulder at me, her lips pressed in a disapproving line as she tugs her purse closer to her body. Ned is grinning at me, and I scowl as I deny again in a low hiss. “I’m _not_. It’s just hot.”

Ned laughs. “It’s fifty eight degrees.”

“Yeah, well, I’m in layers, dude. Ok?”

“You should ask her out.”

“Dude! I’m not- she’s just-I don’t know if-can we just drop this, please?” God, even my ears feel warm.

“Ok, ok,” Ned relents as the crosswalk light changes, and we head across the street. “I’ll drop it for now. But I still think you should ask her out. Or maybe put some security cameras up in your apartment. She could totally kick your ass.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Seriously though, what if she became your arch _nemesis_?”

“Ned--”

“That would be so _sick_. And terrifying. I’d have to go into hiding. If she knew I was your guy in the chair, she’d come after me first to use me as leverage, and I love you, man, but no thank you, I am _not_ getting in the middle of _that_ \--”

“ _Ned_.”

“What?”

“You missed your turn.”

Ned pauses and looks around at the pawn shop we are now loitering in front of. “Oh. Oops.”

I scoff and shake my head. “See you later, dude.”

“See you. Hey, text me when you get home so we can compare notes on our essays. And don’t forget we have to start coming up with ideas for our science project,” Ned calls as he walks backwards towards the street corner, waving his hand.

A pair of older girls scowl as they are forced to dodge him to avoid being run over. I wave back and roll my eyes fondly as he swivels directions and heads to the right.

Sidling to the side to narrowly dodge a gruff looking guy on a skateboard, I stride down the busy street.

I wonder where Michelle lives. She probably walks home by herself. The thought doesn’t sit well with me. I should figure out her route and swing by as Spiderman sometime, just to make sure she makes it home alright, that the area is safe enough. Wait, that’s not creepy, is it? That wouldn’t be stalking, just following, wouldn’t it? For protective, safety reasons. Looking out for my fellow citizens and what not. It’s not being creepy...which is exactly what a creeper would think. Damn it.

I’m so lost in thought, I nearly knock into someone. At the last second, my senses flare in warning, and I jerk to a halt, then step aside.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, then look up, my eyes widening. Woah. This guy is _huge_. Even his dark, baggy street clothes can’t conceal the large muscles or hulking stature. His deep set eyes bore into me as I side step him, thankful that I didn’t actually run into him and give him an excuse to pummel me.

“Sorry,” I say again lamely, and continue on my way. I can’t help but glance behind me as I do so, and the man is still watching me.

Okaaaaay, that isn't creepy at all.

My stomach gives a loud, sudden grumble, and I think wistfully of Mr. Delmar’s new deli, which is unfortunately relocated nowhere near my usual way home. Instead, I’ve been forced to get my after school pick-me-up at Jeff’s subs, which doesn’t compare at all. Their bread isn’t fresh in the slightest, which makes it harder to squish it down like it should be. Still, the thought of a sandwich with a bag of gummy worms is sounding really, really good right now. Maybe--

Something tingles intensely at the base of my skull, sending a hot prickle of unease to my growling stomach. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention, and I know immediately that something is wrong.

I glance around as I walk, but I don’t see any real danger; no out of control car, no one getting mugged, not even anyone yelling at each other to get out of the way. And this is New York. Someone’s always yelling. There’s...nothing. Weird.

My brows furrow, and I tighten my grip on the strap of my backpack. The unsettled feeling doesn’t leave, and my senses are telling me that something is off. I can feel it, but can’t pinpoint it. I would brush it off as nothing, but that sense has never failed me before. It’s maddeningly persistent, the hairs all across my arms now lifting beneath the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I resist the urge to rub at my arms and the back of my neck.

I pick up my pace slightly, my eyes starting to check every face that passes me for any sign of trouble. Grouchy old lady glaring at everyone she passes...normal. Pretty girl staring down at her phone while a sleazy looking guy tries and fails to get her attention...sad, but also normal. Some moron jaywalking straight into traffic even though the crosswalk is just ten feet away from him...normal. Average looking dude keeping pace with me across the street...wait, what?

I glance over at him, thinking that it’s probably nothing, that he will turn into one of the buildings on his left or step onto the edge of the sidewalk to hail a taxi. He’s completely normal looking; dark flannel shirt, thick jacket, scarf, a receding hairline...and he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye.

Frowning, I slow my pace ever so slightly. My stomach tightens as the man does the same.

 _No freaking way_.

I pause, crouching to pretend to retie my shoelaces, as the people walking behind me grumble and curse at the sudden teenage obstacle they have to walk around.

The man across the street stops in front of a newsstand, keeping his body half turned towards me as he picks up and peruses one of the tabloids. He scans the page, then lifts his face, looking at me sideways and catching my eye.

What the _hell_? This guy is _actually_ following me. What does he want? Is he waiting for a quiet street to mug me, thinking I’ll be an easy target? That can’t be good.

I drop my shoelaces and straighten, turning my head to look over my shoulder reflexively, and my unease increases in a sharp stab of what might be panic.

The huge stranger I had almost run into earlier is leaning against one of the store fronts, smoking, his gaze fixed intensely on me. Not good. Definitely not good. I carefully school my expression into one of bored indifference, pretending to adjust my sweatshirt before continuing. A quick side glance proves that the man across the street has dropped his paper back into the stack, and is now heading purposefully in the same direction I am walking in, his hands in his pockets.

Quickening my steps, I reach into my own pocket and slide out my phone. Another crosswalk looms in front of me, but I suddenly don’t want to stop moving, don’t want to let either of these guys get any closer to me, so instead, I turn right.

I take a steadying breath as I dial and place the phone to my ear, suddenly hyper-aware of every single person around me. My heart begins to thud heavily in my chest as the dial tone rings and rings again.

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter into the phone. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’ve taken on more than two muggers at a time. If they cornered me, I could easily take them. If I was in my suit, that is. Peter Parker can’t fight muggers twice his size. But...my senses are telling me these aren’t muggers. The big guy, maybe. He looks like he could play the part. But the older looking guy across the street? He’s not menacing looking in the slightest, and his clothes are too nice for someone looking to rob someone. It’s not adding up, and I am becoming more and more on edge.

I am moving now at a fast walk, just shy of jogging, and I glance behind me to see the huge, burly guy turn the corner, his eyes locking onto me in an instant. The phone clicks, and my heart leaps, but it goes to voicemail.

“H-hey, Mr. Stark,” I say into the phone, turning my head and keeping my voice low. “I’m sorry to bother you, I mean, I know you are probably busy. But…but I think…I think I’m being followed. And they don’t really look like your typical New Yorkers looking for an easy hit…It might be nothing, I can probably handle it, but I-”

As I scan the faces around me, my eyes catch on a pair of icy blue ones boring into me. They belong to a tall man in dark clothing, striding purposefully down the sidewalk in my direction.

Shit, shit, shit.

How many of these guys are in on this...whatever it is? Another darting look tells me the guy across the street is somehow still keeping pace with me, and he’s dropped all pretence of coincidentally going the same direction.

“Shit,” I say aloud as the voicemail ends, and the line goes dead.

The tall man ahead of me, coming closer with every step, is speaking into his cell phone, and even though his voice is a soft murmur, my enhanced hearing picks up his words over the clatter and noise from the streets of Queens. “Target en route. We are ready to engage.”

Did he say _target_? What the hell? Who _are_ these guys?

The sound of screeching tires rips suddenly through the air, followed quickly by shouts and honking horns. The prickle of warning at the base of my neck shoots into a burning flare, and I look swiftly behind me over my shoulder, my stomach lurching at the sight of a huge, black van veering down the street, way closer to the sidewalk than it should be. It jerks around the slower cars impatiently urgently, careening straight towards me.

It feels surreal. It feels like I am in one of the action thrillers that Ned and I watch sometimes on the weekend when we aren’t rewatching Star Wars. Am I dreaming? Did I just turn into Jason Bourne or something?

My head jerks back to look forward, where the tall man is way closer than I thought he would be. Only feet away, our eyes lock, both of us tensing as we prepare to move. Dream or no dream, I’m not sticking around to see what these guys want. His eyes narrow as he reaches swiftly into his jacket, dropping his phone, and my muscles coil, ready to bolt.

The man stumbles forward suddenly, knocked off balance by a disgruntled old lady in a motorized cart. When he looks up, I am already gone.

“Excuse me, sorry, coming through!” I apologize as I shove my way past a throng of people crowded at the next intersection.

“Hey, watch it!” someone shouts after me, but I am already bolting across the street.

Cars slam to a halt, horns blaring, tires squealing, as they barely avoid hitting me. My spider-sense gives me a jolt of warning just in time as a yellow taxi cab brakes too late, and I leap into the air, placing one hand on the hood of the car as I slide across the slick metal.

“Get out of the street, asshole!” the cab driver yells.

I reach the sidewalk, ignoring the similar comments the other pedestrians are shooting at me, and risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

Sure enough, all three of the men who’d been following me are now racing behind with deadly intent, dodging the oncoming vehicles with much less speed and agility than I had. The black van is stopped at the intersection, engine rumbling impatiently. I know the red light isn’t stopping it, but the massive amount of thick traffic is blocking the vehicle from surging towards me. The windows are heavily tinted, the sun glaring off the glass, preventing me from seeing how many men are inside. It’ll be seconds before the men on foot catch up to me. Seconds before the light turns green and the van is free to speed forward.

Ok, new plan.

I sprint forward and turn down the nearest alley, my sneakers pounding loudly against the cement as I pick up speed. My ears pick up the footsteps racing not too far behind me, so I whirl, kicking out at one of the large dumpsters leaning against the wall before the men can round the corner. Metal screeches unpleasantly as it skids across the cement to block the paths of the three closest pursuers just as they enter the alley.

I am running again, straight for the chain link fence dividing the alley in half. I jump when I am close enough, my hands gripping the top metal bar as I propel myself over it. Landing lightly, I race for the opposite end of the alley, where I can see the street beyond it, brightly illuminated by the sun and crowded with pedestrians.

The light vanishes abruptly in a dark rush as the black van skids to a halt onto the sidewalk in front of the alley, completely blocking off my escape.

Crap.

The van door slides open and men come pouring out, the small bit of light streaming into the alley glinting off the metal of their drawn guns.

My gut constricts at the sight, and without slowing down in the slightest, I ram my shoulder into one of the locked, industrial looking doors on my left and stumble inside.

I have seconds to take in the food covered silver shelves towering all around me as I run, and then I am bursting into a bustling kitchen, steam rising from the pots and pans on shiny metal appliances and countertops.

A cook whirls as I run forward, his face blank with shock at my sudden appearance. His hands are full of just plated entrees, and as he turns, my shoulder nicks the edge of a porcelain plate. It goes flying, the steaming hot food drifting into the air above it, and I lurch forward, my hand shooting out to grab the plate and then shoving it to the side to catch the falling entree. Spinning, I thrust it into his hand.

“Sorry!” I exclaim over my shoulder as I sidle past more cooks and duck under waving arms and platters of food. “Smells really good! Whoa!”

I spin to avoid a server holding a tray full of empty glasses, and tear through the swinging double doors into the crowded restaurant. The yells of the chefs and servers chase after me as I sprint through the tables of gawking New Yorkers.

“Nothing to see, here! Enjoy your meal!” I wave at a little boy, a blue crayon fisted in his hand as he pauses his coloring to stare at me. “I recommend the chicken fried steak!”

I slam into the doors of the restaurant, sunlight blooming brightly across my face as I stumble onto the sidewalk. I pause for just a moment, my chest heaving as I pant and look around wildly.

Two men are sprinting towards me from my left, and I hear the shocked cries and yells of outrage as the men from the alley pour into the restaurant behind me.

I bolt to my right down the sidewalk, my heart racing in time to my frantic footsteps.

What the hell is going on? How many are there? And what the hell do they want with me? I can’t think of any reason an armada of dark clad, stormy faced bad guys would want anything to do with Peter Parker. I’m nobody. Even if someone had heard of my internship with Tony Stark, it’s not like an intern would have insider knowledge about his company. Is this about the Accords? Do they know I’m Spiderman?

The thought makes my blood run cold.

I narrowly avoid crashing into a kid on a skateboard by spinning to the side, then quickly have to leap over someone who suddenly bends to tie their shoe in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Watch it, kid!” someone shouts at me as another yells, “Hey, slow down!”

Yeah, not on your life, buddy!

“I’m really sorry about this,” I say, cringing as I race past several wire towered kiosks containing hundreds of postcards and tourist-y keychains, my hands shooting out to topple them over behind me. The men chasing me curse as they stumble over the obstacle.

I am running so fast that the wind is roaring my ears and making my eyes water. I am running faster than I probably should be, faster than is probably normal for your average teenager, but right now, I really don’t care. All I care about is getting away from these guys. Get somewhere safe, get somewhere fast, and get ahold of Mr. Stark. He’ll know what to do.

I see the upcoming busy intersection, and the light directly ahead of me in the direction I am running in turns green. A sleek, brand new looking silver Porsche that looks extremely out of place in this area of Queens, is revving its engine. It takes off with a smooth roar before the other drivers can even register that the light had changed.

Seeing my opportunity, and keeping my fingers crossed that I don’t totally screw this up and get run over by the bus behind the porsche, I put on a fresh burst of speed. My steps pound heavily on the sidewalk, then the asphalt, and then I am at the rear of the car. I reach out, my fingertips latching onto the rear headlights, and I am suddenly, immensely grateful for my spider like ability to stick to things.

“Whoa!” I cry as I pull myself onto the roof of the moving vehicle as it accelerates.

I keep my stomach and chest flush against the roof of the car, the harsh wind ruffling through my hair. Glancing back, I see that five of my pursuers are still racing on foot to catch up, a couple of them pressing fingers to their ears and shouting orders I am now too far away to hear. A black van, either a second one or the same one from the alleyway, is snaking through traffic straight towards me, nearly sending a minivan careening into the populated sidewalk.

My ears pick up the distant wail of police sirens. Looking forward again, I see people pointing at me from where I am holding onto the Porsche for dear life, then at the van accelerating closer.

Way to stay under the radar, Parker, I chastise myself, and then the speeding driver makes a sharp, sudden left turn.

If it wasn’t for my superhuman grip on the roof of the porsche, the move would have sent me flying off into the street. As soon as the car straightens, I release my hold and roll off of the moving vehicle, somersaulting the moment I hit the unforgiving asphalt. I use the momentum to shoot back up to my feet and spring down the closest alleyway.

Panting, I press my back into the shadows of the brick wall behind me as the black van goes shooting past me down the street.

If I’m lucky, the driver’s sharp turn took me out of sight long enough for the men in the van to notice me slipping into this alley. Even if that’s true, it won’t take them long at all to realize I am no longer on the porsche, and then they’ll double back to check the area.

Looking deeper into the alley, my eyes fix onto a dingy looking fire escape clinging to the side of the brick building and climbing all the way to the top. Not that I need a fire escape when I can easily scale the wall myself, but I don’t want to risk anyone glancing down the alley or out their window and seeing me sticking to the bricks. I think wistfully of the suit in my backpack and very briefly consider stopping to put it on. But those men could be here any second, could be doubling back as I stand here like an idiot, and I need to move.

I shoot forward, jumping up, and my fingers catch on the bottom rung of the fire escape. I pull myself up as the police sirens get closer, louder. I ignore them as I forgo using the actual stairs and instead, leap and clamber up the rails and poles framing the fire escape. My heart races as I move as quickly as I can, sure that any second the men will appear down in the alley and see me making my escape. But seconds later, I am on the roof.

I move instantly away from the side of the roof facing the street, which is covered in sheets of plastic, bits of scaffolding, and loose brick, and I keep my body low as I move quickly for the far side of the building. To my right is the access door leading into the apartment complex I’ve just climbed atop of, and just ahead are large, clunky looking air conditioning and heating units that look like they haven’t been updated since the eighties, and an array of different sized satellite dishes.

The hairs on my arm stand up in a prickling rush beneath my sweatshirt, my spider-sense screaming at me to move, to hide. I lunge for the units, skidding to a halt just behind them as I lower myself to the ground, sliding my backpack off my shoulders and into my lap as I press my body against one of the larger radiators. It thrums loudly, and heat blooms against my back.

It’s difficult to catch my breath, and I suddenly become aware of a massive stitch in my side. Ow.

Over the loud whirs and hums of the rickety old units, I suddenly hear distant, muffled voices, and I shrink down, hugging my backpack to my chest and trying to make my body as small as possible. I dare a quick glance around the corner of the radiator just as two men burst through the access door onto the roof, guns in hand.

I jerk back behind my hiding place and clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the heavy breaths coming from my heaving chest. I am immensely grateful for the obnoxiously loud, ancient units on the rooftop, hiding me from view and concealing the sound of my frantic breathing. Slow seconds crawl painfully by as I wait for them to discover where I am hiding.

“Damn it,” one of them swears loudly, making me flinch. “We’ve lost him.”

“I don’t see him on any of the other rooftops. He must have doubled back. Come on,” the second orders in a heavily German accented voice.

I wait, my heartbeat pounding so loud I am sure they will be able to hear it, but then there are the sounds of their footsteps, the sound of the heavy door opening and clanging shut.

They’re gone.

My shoulders slump as I let out a long sigh of relief. Sweat beads across my forehead, and I can feel it also trickling down my back. I let my backpack drop to the ground. I made it. They didn’t find me. Holy _shit_ , that was intense. What the hell is going on?

A sudden vibration in my pocket makes me jump out of my skin, and I nearly yelp in surprise before I realize it is my phone. My shaking fingers fumble for it, nearly dropping my cell several times before I see the name on the call screen. Mr. Stark. Thank _god_.

“Mr. Stark,” I breathe into the phone, my relief palpable. I keep my voice as soft as I can make it, in case there are more of those guys nearby.

“ _Better make this good, kid. I stepped out of a very important meeti--what the hell is that sound?_ ”

“Uh, several old radiators. Look, Mr. Sta-”

_“Jesus. They sound like they are from the stone age. Back to the point. This better not be some kind of rebellious teenage prank to get my attention, because if it is, and I pissed off Pepper for nothing--”_

“-It’s not!” I blurt. “I promise, it’s not.”

“ _Then what the hell is it? I’m getting the stink eye over here, and trust me, you do not want to be on Pepper’s bad si--”_

“I think I’m in trouble,” I put a hand to my forehead. I hate having to interrupt him, I know how much _he_ hates that. But I have this horrible feeling like I am running out of time.

Mr. Stark’s voice changes, losing its light air of annoyance and dropping to utter seriousness in a second. “ _Where are you?”_

“The rooftop…corner of 56th and 137th I think,” I am panting slightly. “Mr. Stark, it was the craziest thing! These guys, they started chasing me--well first I almost ran into one, but then I realized the dude across the street was watching me, and then there was the guy on the phone and the black van, and I was running, but there were so many of them and I-“

“ _Do me a favor, kid. Take a breath, swallow some of that word vomit, and when you can speak in a decibel meant for human ears, you can continue, okay?”_ Mr. Stark interrupts. I can hear something muffled in the background. An engine?

“Yeah. Yeah, ok,” I take a few breaths, glancing around me for any sign of my pursuers. There are none.

“ _Who were these guys? Did you get a good look at them? Any identification or insignias? A name on that van?”_

“No,” I admit. “No, there was nothing. Just all dressed in dark clothing.”

_“Well that narrows it down, doesn’t it? How many are there?”_

“Um…” I try to count them off in my head. “I don’t know. A dozen maybe? Maybe two vans, but I don’t know, there could have been more.”

“ _Hang tight, and stay low. I’m on my way.”_

Despite myself, I am utterly relieved by those words. It’s embarrassing, calling Iron-man for help, but I definitely feel out of my league here. And besides, it isn’t Spiderman asking for assistance, it’s Peter Parker.

_“Do you have your suit?”_

“Yeah, but I’m not wearing it. It’s in my backpack. Wait, should I be wearing it? I should put it-”

_“Cool your engines, kid. You’re too out in the open. Don’t want to risk any voyeurs catching you in a compromising position if those guys are still around.”_

Oh. Duh. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, ok. That makes sense. I think I lost them, though.”

“Think again.”

A sharp flare of warning shudders through me too late as the deep, rumbling voice speaks from directly behind me. I lunge forward, dropping the phone and my backpack as I roll to my feet, spinning to face him.

Ohhhhh crap.

It’s the huge guy, the one I first almost ran into on the street. I’d been too distracted, my senses slightly dulled by the din of the a.c. and heating units to hear him approach. My eyes widen as I take in his massive stature. Holy shit, even his muscles have muscles. A silver gleam draws my gaze to the gun in his hands, the gun aimed straight towards me.

I raise up my hands in a placating gesture, taking a step back as he raises his weapon.

“Woah, woah, take it easy!” I say quickly. “Look I don’t know what I did, but if this is about skipping school last Friday, or pirating that one copy of The Last Jedi, I’m really sorry. And I promise it won’t happen again.”

The guy’s face doesn’t even twitch as he pulls the trigger. I drop to the ground as the sound of the gunshot rips through the air, and with it the feeling of something ruffling through my hair before it slams into the stone ridge behind me. “Can’t we talk about this?”

He fires again, but I am already moving, rolling across the ground and taking cover behind one of the larger satellite dishes.

“I guess not,” I pant, listening intently and counting his approaching footsteps. I glance back at where he’d shot at me, and see small tranquilizer darts in the half wall and ground where I’d been seconds before.

I’m not sure if it’s a plus or not that they plan on taking me alive.

Mr. Stark is coming, I remind myself as panic cinches my gut. He’s on his way. He’s coming.

“Come out, little spider, and I promise I won’t hurt you.”

My muscles lock up, and my eyes widen. Several curse words drift through my head, the voice sounding a whole lot like Aunt May’s. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that he used the word spider. Little spider is a common term of endearment for a teenage kid, right?

“I won’t ask again, Spiderman,” the man growls, his voice even closer. “Come out with your hands up, or this will be very unpleasant for you.”

Well, that answers that.

I take a steadying breath as my stomach sinks with dread. These guys know my identity, and they can’t be after me because of the Accords, or Mr. Stark would know about it, wouldn’t he? There’s no time to think about it further.

My ears pick up the man’s footsteps, moving to my left, trying to get a clear shot at me. Well, I think to myself, at least I won’t have to pull my punches.

If gigantor over there wants Spiderman, then Spiderman he will get.

My eyes fix on a haphazard pile of loose bricks near the half wall ledge encircling the entire rooftop. I push up the sleeves of my sweatshirt slightly, revealing my hidden web shooters, and take aim. I fire, the tendrils of the web attaching to the nearest brick. I jerk my head to the left just as the huge guy edges into view, his gun aimed straight at me.

“Heads up!” I call, and jerk my arm in a wide arc.

The brick goes flying, the web releasing from my wrist as it shoots straight towards him. His dark eyes widen, and he barely ducks in time as the brick goes soaring over his head to smash onto the roof behind him.

I’m already running, sliding low on the ground when I get close enough, the cement scraping against my jeans as I barrel into his legs, knocking his feet out from underneath him. He falls with a grunt as I shoot up into a crouch and fire off another web. It attaches to the gun and yanks it from his grip, pulling it straight into my waiting hand.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that guns are dangerous?” I ask, tilting my head to the side as I snap the pistol into several useless pieces. I shouldn’t be antagonizing him, but it’s a nervous reflex I can’t control. I wish wistfully for my mask, to hide the unsettled feeling I know must be flickering across my face.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to mind your surroundings?” he growls back, then lunges forward, his hands seizing the edge of a sheet of dirty plastic covering this section of the rooftop.

My eyes widen as I realize I’m standing right on top of it just as he yanks it out from under me. I use the momentum to flip myself backwards, landing in a crouch several feet away, one hand stabling my body on the ground, the other in the air beside me.

I look up as gigantor charges faster than I expect him to, his teeth bared. Oh man, he looks _pissed_.

I straighten and dodge his first two punches easily, then catch his third one in my right hand, yanking him forward and off balance for my left fist to smash into the side of his head. The man grunts, stumbles, but doesn’t fall, so I put all my weight on my back leg and slam my knee up into his chest.

He’s ready for it and catches my leg in his massive hands. With a growl he shoves me backwards, and in an unexpectedly swift move as I try to regain my balance, his fist slams into my face.

 _Ow_.

Stars erupt in my darkening vision as my head jerks back from the blow, and my body crashes onto the rooftop. Agony laces through my forehead, my skull, but I hurry to blink away the gray spots as I feel him on top of me, pinning me to the ground, a heavy hand on my chest.

My arms automatically shoot out, gripping his jacket as I prepare to flip him off of me. My vision clears for a split second, and my eyes catch on the small, dark emblem on his jacket just above his heart; a skull, with six tentacle looking things just beneath it.

My blood runs cold.

I know that symbol. Know it, because I’d visited the exhibit once with my Uncle Ben, and seen Captain America’s original suit, had seen the pictures of the men who’d fought and died so many years ago against one of the most dangerous organizations the world had ever known. Know it, because Ned and I had recently stumbled upon the files released onto the internet by the Black Widow and Captain America three years ago, when S.H.I.E.L.D. went down.

 _Hydra_.

My attacker is reaching for something on his belt with his free hand, and I snap back into the moment with renewed intensity. I seize the arm pinning me down, and use it to stabilize myself as I pull my knees to my chest and kick out towards where he is hovering above me. His body shoots backwards with another pained grunt, and I am already on my feet, stumbling slightly as pain shoots through my head at the sudden movement.

I lean over him, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket as I punch his face with my right hand. I draw my fist back to deliver a blow that will render him unconscious when my spider-sense seems to burst with warning inside my skull.

Something sharp stabs into my neck, burning like an intense bee sting. My head snaps to the left, my eyes widening at the sight of another Hydra agent standing by the wide open access door, his gun aimed straight at me.

Which means that the stinging in my neck…

“Crap,” I mutter as numbness begins to spread across my neck and down my shoulder, and I am immediately light headed.

Whatever is in that tranquilizer is working fast. And I realize with sudden horror, that there will be no getting out of this, no more running. I am caught, and I don’t think Iron-man will make it in time to help.

The rooftop beneath the soles of my converse is swaying, undulating, and the edges of my vision are beginning to darken. I drop to my knees, my grip on the huge guy’s jacket the only thing grounding me.

With the last of my senses, I bow over the groaning man and rip the insignia from the dark material to snag it in the vents of the nearby a.c. unit. He seems to come to his senses then and shoves me harshly backwards. I can’t tell what is up and what is down, everything is spinning so violently. I am on my back now, gazing up at the sky, at the too bright sun sending more stabs of pain into my head.

“Target is down,” a voice says from somewhere to my left. At least, I think it’s my left.

I am close to passing out, my rapid heartbeat beginning to slow to a sluggish pace. I am terrified as whatever drug I’ve been injected with tries to drag me down into darkness, terrified of what is going to happen to me now. I can only hope that the clue I left for Mr. Stark will remain unnoticed.

That is my last thought before my eyes are rolling back into my skull, and I know no more.


	2. Walk This Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story deviates just slightly from the end of Civil War. Captain America has not rescued his teammates from the Raft, and did not leave Tony the phone or letter. He still went to Wakanda, Bucky still went into cryo-sleep, but Steve is working on plans to get the rest of his team free while he is in hiding.

**Steve Rogers**

* * *

_“Posso servi lo em algo mais?”_

I look up at the pretty young waitress, the sun’s glow illuminating her golden skin and rich, dark hair.

“ _Nao obrigado, Lara_ ,” I reply, giving her the smallest of smiles.

Lara’s returning smile is broad and bright, her eyes lingering just a little too long to be polite, before she turns and heads back to the counter of the cafe. I hold the steaming cup in the palm of my hand and gaze out at the sparkling blue ocean waters in the distance.

It’s a mistake, coming here as often as I do, but I can’t seem to stay away. I’ve developed a liking for the cappuccinos, and there really is no beating the view the cliffside cafe offers. Boats drift lazily across the glittering water’s surface, small enough from this distance, they look like toys.

I sip at the coffee and adjust the navy blue cap on top of my head.

Natasha would probably rip me a new one for coming here as much as I do when I am trying to stay under the radar. Then again, she’d also mock my terrible Portuguese, ask if any of the local girls have caught my eye, since the woman is strangely invested in my love life, and maybe comment on the size of the small, porcelain cup resting in my hand. My lips curve against my will.

God, I wish she was here.

I wish any of them were here with me, that I wasn’t alone at this compact metal table, the sun warming my shoulders as I stare out at the stunning, picturesque view. But the reality is, I am here on my own, gazing across an endless ocean, all the while knowing my friends are in small cells, staring at nothing but white walls.

Suddenly the coffee isn’t sitting so well in my stomach. I have to set the fragile cup down onto the table before my fist can shatter it into even tinier pieces.

Sam. Clint. Wanda. Scott.

Unjustly imprisoned. Locked away like the worst kind of criminals, when their only crime was aiding my endeavor to stop a madman from unleashing more super soldiers onto the world. I’d called. They’d answered. And now I sit in freedom, an ocean breeze hitting my face, while they breathe the same stale air they’ve been breathing for months, while they are caged like animals.

The worst part? Helmut Zemo hadn’t been trying to awaken the five remaining soldiers from their cryo-sleep. His game was revenge against the Avengers, to have us destroy ourselves, ripped apart from the inside. And it had worked.

It should be me locked away.

The only thing giving me comfort is the knowledge that I am not just sitting at this cafe for my own enjoyment.

The patio also offers a great view of the streets below, the perfect vantage point to see all the vehicles that come and go near the docks. My eyes train on the obscure blue honda civic, belonging to Joe Greller, a former associate of Secretary Thaddeus Ross. And not just an associate, but one of the original engineers who had a hand in the design and construction of the Raft. Greller is my ticket in, he just doesn’t know it yet.

I watch through narrowed eyes as he steps out of his vehicle, striding forward to converse with another man on the docks.

There’s another heavy pang in my chest as I imagine how this reconnaissance mission would be going if I had my team with me. Sam might be down below, strolling casually down the docks as his drone, Redwing, hovers some distance above, scanning the target and snapping photographs. Nat might be tailing Greller, posing as a casual tourist walking hand in hand with Clint as he pretends to be her husband. Or she might be here with me, sipping coffee after having placed a series of audio transmitters near the target so we could hear his conversation. Wanda might be stationed at one of the nearby boats docked at the harbor, using her powers to--

A loud, frightened scream pierces through my painful musings.

My head whips to the side, and I realize I am already on my feet, fists clenched, my small cappuccino cup clattering onto the table before I can even register the sight before me.

Two men wearing black hoodies, cheap masks covering their faces, are waving guns and yelling in Portuguese. The few guests cower beneath their tables, terrified and trying to make themselves as small as possible.

I step forward, straightening my back and making no effort to conceal myself.

These men picked the wrong cafe.

One of the men sees my movement out of the corner of his eye and whirls, his gun aimed directly at me. He shouts orders in Portuguese, causing his partner to turn on me as well. Good. Better to make myself the target than the frightened civilians. The cafe is small, and I am close enough that I know I can take both of them down before they can fire off a single shot.

“Take it easy,” I say, raising my hands as if I am surrendering, as if I am cowed by the sight of the weapons pointing at me, while instead my muscles coil and tense, ready to charge and make my move.

That’s when the second man seizes Lara from where she is hiding behind the counter, wrapping his hand in her long hair and yanking her to her feet. I freeze as she lets out a scream, the man pulling her body in front of his as he returns his gun hand back in my direction.

“Let her go,” I demand.

The air is suddenly filled with the sound of gunshots. I dive to the ground, tucking and rolling behind a half wall as the other guests cry out. My eyes quickly scan for injuries, but the would-be thieves are either new at this, or have terrible aim, because no one is harmed. The gunshots have ceased, and I jerk my head up in time to see both men fleeing out the door of the cafe, a struggling Lara in tow.

I lurch to my feet in an instant, vaulting over the half wall and tearing out of the cafe just as the pair of them throw themselves into a battered looking van, shoving Lara in the back with them. The engine is already running, and with a loud squeal of tires, the van accelerates. One of the men leans out the passenger window and fires off a few haphazard shots, forcing me to duck back into the doorway to take cover.

Damn it.

The moment the gunshots stop, I am running.

I have become very familiar with the streets of Salvador during my time here, the close, multi-colored buildings easy to mark and remember. I charge down the streets, and after several long weeks of hiding in plain sight, I let myself run as fast as my superhuman abilities will let me.

Cutting down a side street, I see the light glinting off the beige van at the end of it, and put on a fresh burst of speed.

Just as the tail lights shoot past the corner building on my right, I launch myself forward, my hands grabbing onto the back end of it, and with a grunt of effort, I pull myself up. My teeth clench as my fingertips dig into the metal of the van, the toes of my shoes pressing hard against the bumper as I hang on. There are shouts, and the driver accelerates, then begins to swerve erratically. Grunting, I tighten my grip on the vehicle, but the driver makes a sharp, sudden turn, and the momentum is enough for my hands to slip. I roll as I land on the hard cobblestones, and before I can get to my feet, a shower of bullets rains down around me.

My body rolls again, twisting to duck behind the nearest building.

“Okay,” I pant. “Now they’re really starting to piss me off.”

I race down the street the moment it’s clear, and even though I moved quickly, the van is nowhere in sight. Frustration build in my chest, hot and tight.

This isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing right now. I should be interrogating the man that will be the key to breaking into the Raft, not chasing down robbers turned kidnappers. But there’s nothing for it. I won’t leave Lara to be hurt or killed because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I’ve lost sight of them, but if these men are as amateurish as they seem, they won’t go far. In fact, they’re likely headed for the rougher part of town to lay low and hide out, about ten blocks away.

Minutes later, I finally turn down the quiet street. My heart is racing from the chase, my body filled with tension, with adrenaline.

The buildings here are abandoned, unused, and in total disrepair, one of the most un-populated areas in Salvador. I haven’t been in this city long, but it took me no time at all to learn the unsavory parts of it. This is the perfect place to take shelter and hide a hostage.

Sure enough, there’s the van, parked discreetly in an alley, a dirty tarp half tossed over it in a rushed attempt to hide the vehicle.

My eyes narrow, my clenched fists tightening as I move stealthily towards the building to the right of it, the blue paint chipped and peeling from the walls. If these men cost me my chance at Greller, if they’ve harmed Lara in any way, I don’t know how much I’ll be able to pull my punches. I pause near a boarded up window, my ears straining for any noise.

Nothing. Not a woman’s cries, no whispered threats, no shuffling footsteps.

I frown. Maybe they’d taken shelter in one of the other buildings, parking the van here to mislead me in the wrong direction. I nearly snort. There’s no way these amateurs had the foresight to pull a move like that. Something rustles softly inside, and I tense. Here then, and making an attempt to remain silent in case I pursued them here. I’m willing to bet they threatened Lara enough to ensure her silence as well.

A wave of hot anger rushes through me, spiking the adrenaline already coursing through my veins.

I inch around the back of the building, finding another boarded up window, sections already ripped off in a gap big enough for me to ease through. A quick glance proves the room to be empty, nothing but an overturned table and two broken chairs amid the debris.

Slipping inside, I land as silently as I can on my feet and stay close to the walls as I edge across the room. I peer around the corner just in time to see one of the men jump out of the window in the next room to the street below. I rush forward, tearing across the room in seconds, ready to end the chase and save Lara.

There’s a slow clap behind me, and I tense.

“Wow. You can take the hero out of America, but you just can’t take America out of the hero, can you?”

God _damn_ it.

I turn slowly, my eyes narrowing, and instead of the tension leaving my body at the sight of him, it doubles. “Staging a kidnapping? Really?”

Tony Stark doesn’t even get up from his damn chair. He raises his hands in a gesture that says, what do you expect? “I had to find some way to get you out of your hidey-hole, Cap. That’s quite the look you have going for you, by the way; the beard, the longer hair. It’s very...I wanna say, lumber-sexual? Is that the phrase the kids are using nowadays? Very woodsy. I bet the ladies approve.”

“How much did you pay them?” I ask, ignoring his comments.

“More than they deserved,” Tony replies easily. “Although the cute waitress deserved every penny for that stunning performance she gave. Definitely Oscar worthy. _Supreendente_.”

Some things never change. He still loves the sound of his own voice. “What the hell do you want, Stark?”

“Last names, huh? Is that how it is?” he stands from his chair, adjusting his blazer. “Alright, Rogers, you and I need to have a little chat.”

“You and I? So the government isn’t involved in this ‘little chat’ of ours? Ross isn’t?”

“Jesus, Steve, it’s just me.”

“Sorry if I find that a little hard to believe after what you’ve done.”

“You really want to start comparing notes on that front?” Tony’s tone, his entire demeanor, has changed. No, I realize. It hasn’t changed. I’m just seeing through the front he’d put on.

I look closer, noting his rigid stance, the strain in his face. The man seems to have aged considerably since were last face to face. Tony’s usually groomed and styled appearance is in minor disarray. His clothes, while probably absurdly expensive, are wrinkled, slightly disheveled like he’s been in them too long, and there are the beginnings of dark circles beneath his eyes. I tilt my head slightly as I try to get a read on him, and I realize something with a wash of unease.

Something is seriously wrong. It has to be, for the arrogant billionaire in front of me to let it show even the slightest bit how ragged he is feeling. It has to be, because somehow he has hunted me down, even when governments all over the world have failed to do so.

Instead of responding to his jibe, I ask him in all seriousness, “What’s going on?”

A million scenarios are running through my mind, and I feel the anxiety stirring in my gut. I think first of our teammates, locked away in the Raft, and of Ross, determined to uphold the Accords by whatever means necessary. What has happened? Who has it happened to? What has made Tony Stark so desperate, he has chosen to come to me?

“I need your help,” Tony admit. “You know I wouldn’t be here unless I absolutely had to be."

Despite myself, I ask, “Can’t Ross and his team help?”

Tony’s expression darkens as he scowls at me through those tinted glasses of his. “If they could, would I be standing in this shit hole with you?”

Fair point.

“Tell me.”

“They took the kid.”

I blink. “What kid?”

Tony sighs, the sound unbearably weary, as he runs a hand over his face. “The kid I brought to Germany. You know, about yea-high, overeager, with a tendency for pilfering patriotic Frisbees? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Queens, I realize. The kid in red and blue that Tony had idiotically recruited for a fight that had nothing to do with him. I knew he’d sounded young. I wonder now how young.

Frowning, I ask, “Who took him?”

“See, that’s why I need your help, Cap. You know them better than anyone else, or at least longer than everyone else.”

A grim sort of horror washes over me in an icy rush as I realize who he must be referring to. “Hydra,” I answer with a grim resignation.

“Hydra,” Tony confirms, and I’ve never seen him so shaken. “They took him right off the streets, and I have exhausted every single resource I have, and some I don’t to try and get a lead, to get anything. But they are entirely off the grid.”

“When was he taken?”

“Thirty eight hours ago.”

“Should I be insulted or impressed that you found me so quickly?”

“Let’s go with the latter and get back to the point, shall we? I’m out of ideas on how to find them, and they could be doing anything to the kid right now.”

“You think they know he’s Spiderman?”

“Why else would they take an interest in him?” Tony raises a brow.

“How’d they even find out who he is?”

“I don’t know. I have no _fucking_ clue,” Tony runs his hand through his hair, starting to look entirely unhinged. Worry lines crease between his eyebrows, around his mouth. I hadn’t given much thought to Tony’s relationship to the rookie he’d brought to Germany, but I certainly hadn’t pegged him as the parental type. “One minute I get a message that he thinks he’s being followed, and when I finally get a hold of him, he’s hiding on a rooftop after running for his life down the streets of New York. He got jumped before the call got cut. By the time I got there, it was too late.”

When he looks at me again, his eyes are haunted. “ _I_   was too late, and they got him. At least they were considerate enough to leave a calling card.”

Tony hands me a ripped handful of thick, black cloth, stamped with the image of a skull with six curling tendrils beneath it. “Although, I think that may have been the efforts of our friendly neighborhood Spiderman when he realized he was caught,” Tony adds.

“Jesus,” I breathe, staring down at it.

Whatever remains of Hydra must be truly desperate to abduct someone off the streets in broad daylight, someone under the protection of Tony Stark, no less. What’s even more troubling is how Spiderman’s identity was discovered in the first place.

“None of your files were hacked?” I ask finally, crushing the material in my curling fist.

“Don’t insult me. I’ve scoured everything, and there’s no trace of any hacker. Either they are better than I am, which is impossible, or they found out some other way. Look, I’d love to keep discussing all these fun little details some more,” Tony glances at his watch. “But if we are all going to have any hope of getting the kid back in one piece, we need to leave about yesterday.”

My brows furrow. “All?”

Tony levels a look at me. “I will do everything, _everything_ in my power to save that kid. He’s my responsibility. And there’s only one other person who knows Hydra like you, maybe even better.”

Movement in the doorway behind him has me tensing, my gaze shooting past Tony’s shoulder.

Bucky, wearing a large jacket to conceal a new, dark metal arm, steps into the room.

I can’t speak for a moment, I am that floored. Bucky is the last person I had expected to walk through the door, the last person I expected Tony would turn to for help.

Finally, I look back at Tony, not bothering to hide my shock.

His jaw is set, his eyes fierce. “Are you with us, or not?”

I glance at Bucky, who gives me a nod, his expression tight.

Then I straighten my spine and gaze evenly at Tony. “I’m with you. Let’s go get the kid.”


	3. Dream On

**Natasha Romanov**

* * *

 

Always so dramatic.

I watch the footage playing live in the quaint, little café as Rogers charges after the pretty brunette being dragged away.

A smirk curves my lips. Predictable, Rogers. Very predictable.

Then again, so is Stark.

Of course his plan would turn into a full production, screaming damsel in distress included. I would have just slipped into the seat beside Steve and made him buy me a cup of coffee.

But I am not the one in charge of this operation. I'm just here to make sure it goes smoothly.

Another cam shows Rogers and Stark finally having their little heart to heart, though I know because of time constraints, they won't be able to talk long.

"That's your cue, big guy," I say without looking over at Barnes. Silently, the man makes his way out of the jet in case Steve needs extra incentive.

I told Stark it wouldn't be necessary. The moment Rogers hears about Hydra kidnapping a kid, he will agree to help, no matter what happened between all of us in the past. But again, Stark has that flair for theatrics, and had told me that he'd learned to always have insurance.

I take a deep breath, straightening my spine and reaching across the console before me to start the jet. My fingers flip three switches to start the thrusters, and I quickly make sure the cloaking reflectors lining the outside of the jet are still engaged.

Placing a hand to my earpiece I say, "Time's a-wasting boys."

"Just get that bird ready to fly, Romanov. We're on our way back to you."

"One step ahead of you, boss."

Moments later I am lowering the ramp, and the minute I hear three sets of footsteps clinking on the metal surface, I pull back on the control wheel to lift the jet into the air. None of them are speaking, I notice as I close the ramp again and set the jet onto autopilot so Stark can take over in a moment.

I swivel in my chair and stand, giving a hint of a smile as I walk towards a rather stunned looking Rogers.

"You look surprised to see me," I say with a raised brow.

His eyes bore into me, like he's trying to get a read on things, on me, before he finally returns the smile and says, "Just a bit. Nice hair."

I run my fingers through my pale blonde locks. "Nice beard."

"Yes, and I have a nice _ass_. Are we ready to get to work now?" Stark says as he brushes past us.

"Just like old times," I give Steve an exasperated look as I turn towards the main console in the center of the jet, where Tony is pulling up a myriad of screens and maps.

"Not quite," Rogers disagrees as he glances between everyone.

As I move closer to the screens, Stark's eyes meet mine, and he nods. "Get him up to date, but make it fast," he orders before striding for the cockpit. Pleasantries are finished then. That's fine with me. 

"I've been tracking Hydra's movements for the last seven months," I start, turning to face Steve. "Let's call it a side project. Up until recently, they've been laying low. Outing them from S.H.I.E.L.D., wiping out most of their bases, and destroying what remained of their super soldier program were heavy blows, and it took them awhile to recover."

Steve steps closer, his blue eyes serious and mouth tight as he scans the holographic images.

"This," I gesture towards a specific file, featuring a silver haired man in a lab coat. "Is Doctor Heinrich Muller, one of their current lead scientists. Unfortunately, we don't know much about him, other than he assisted in the super soldier project and specializes in genetic mutation. Hydra keeps him close, and doesn't move him often ever since Strucker and Dr. List were killed in Sokovia."

"But you think he has something to do with the kid's disappearance?" Steve asks, looking now at me.

I nod. "I do. Hydra was somehow able to discern Spiderman's identity, but instead of using that information and sending an assassin or revealing it to the world, they took him. Why?"

"Because they think they can use him," Barnes speaks for the first time, and our eyes turn to him. His face is grim, haunted. "The kid managed to acquire superhuman abilities without the use of one of their serums. It was bound to catch their attention."

"And now they want to know how," Steve finishes. "You think Muller is the guy to figure it out?"

"Through whatever means necessary," I affirm with a frown. "My intel shows that no one has even seen this guy in years, and suddenly he's back on the radar at the same time Spiderman is kidnapped as a civilian. Curious coincidence, isn't it?

"I've learned not to put much stock in coincidences," replies Steve with a raise of his brows. 

I smirk. "Glad I was able to teach you something."

I turn to swipe back the files and pull up a 3D map of Russia. Using my hands to zoom in, I choose to ignore how the others tense as I pass over Siberia and move the map until it highlights just the Kamchatka peninsula. "Surveillance caught him at the Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky airport in Yelizovo, here."

With a deft twist of my fingers, the city is highlighted, and the photo hovers just above the map. I can feel Tony's hard stare as Barnes and Rogers step closer to the map. "This area is extremely geologically active, making it unstable, remote, and a massive power source. All just the right ingredients for a Hydra base, wouldn't you say? That's where you boys come in," I fold my arms across my chest. "You two know Hydra better than anyone, you know where they've located their bases in the past, you know how they work. We need you to narrow it down. Time is definitely not on our side."

"Is it ever?" murmurs Steve as he exchanges a look with Barnes.

The Winter Soldier's gray blue eyes scan the mountain ranges, his jaw tight. Rogers moves in next to him, tracing the line of the Acha River up towards the mountain ranges, dotted with volcanoes. "That valley there is too close to the city," Barnes murmurs. "The geysers would attract a number of tourists. Not much, but enough to make Hydra avoid the risk."

"More uninhabited then," Rogers agrees, and I swear I can almost see the wheels turning in their minds, like the gears from two separate machines fitting together.

I sit back and observe as they converse quietly, falling into a pattern of speaking that comes from a lifetime of knowing someone. Glancing to my right towards the cockpit, I see Tony's back is ramrod straight, his shoulders tense, and his grip on the throttle so tight, his knuckles are white. My lips curve into a somewhat sympathetic frown. It's a lot, I suppose, for one person to handle, and Tony doesn't handle things very well. The teenager he made himself responsible for had been taken by the very worst of humanity, and Stark had been forced to hunt down the last person he had ever wanted to see in order to get the kid back.

"There," Barnes says suddenly, and both Tony and I whip our heads around to look at where he is pointing. "It has to be there."

Steve is nodding, and adds, "It's the most uninhabited area on the peninsula, and centered between these volcanoes here, which gives them unlimited access to a power source."

"I knew you boys were more than just pretty faces," I smirk before turning back towards Stark. "There's your location."

Tony is already altering the course. "Good work," he says somewhat reluctantly. "Now suit up. Vacation's over, Cap. Time to exchange that sunblock for a parka. Gear's in the back."

"Over here," I say as Steve raises an eyebrow in Stark's direction. Barnes stays by the map, his hands on the console, looking lost in thought. Rogers follows me to the back of the jet, where I open the clasps of a large silver case and stand aside. He lifts out the solid black uniform, and I cock my head slightly as something in his face tightens.

"What is it?" I ask softly.

"Nothing," he replies. I give him a look, and he relents. "Just strange seeing it without the stars and stripes is all."

Ah. "All that color would have clashed with your beard," my lips quirk up as I tease him, trying to lighten the mood.

There is too much testosterone, too much brooding and melancholy in this goddamn jet. Steve gives a snort of laughter. I see his eyes catch on the objects beside the case, and then he frowns, setting down his uniform to lift up the black and navy backpack.

"His name is Peter," I tell him, and he looks back at me with a questioning gaze. "Come on, Rogers. You didn't honestly expect me to not look into this kid after the stunt Tony pulled in Germany, did you?"

"How old is he?" Steve's voice is quiet, tense.

"Fifteen."

His grip on the backpack tightens as he murmurs, "Jesus Christ."

"These guys were good, Steve. They made sure there was nothing Stark could use to trace the kid when they took him, including his phone, watch, and backpack," I glance over at Tony, Rogers following my gaze. "He's not doing great."

Steve shakes his head slightly. "What was he thinking? Bringing a kid into this?"

"What were you thinking, when you first tried to enlist?" I asked gently. "The kid was doing this long before Stark found him. Tony just gave him better toys."

Rogers has never been good at hiding his emotions, and I can see them all roiling around in those sky blue eyes of his.

I place a hand on his forearm. "I know there's a lot that needs to be said, a lot that needs to be gone through and hashed out. Let's just focus on getting the kid away from Hydra first, alright? Then we can all go back to beating the shit out of each other."

"Sounds like a plan," Steve's smile doesn't quite meet his eyes. He lowers his voice further. "You haven't looked into a certain unbreachable ocean prison as one of your side projects, have you?"

I stiffen, casting a glance at Stark before giving Steve a sharp look. "I have."

For a moment, his eye light up, and I hate to have to shoot it down. "It's tight, Steve," I admit somberly. "I haven't been able to find a way in."

Steve looks away. "Neither have I."

I open my mouth to speak-

"Romanov," Stark calls suddenly from the cockpit. I raise an eyebrow at being summoned in such a manner and give Steve a dry look. "Duty calls."

"Good luck with that," Rogers replies as he begins to pull off his shirt.

I stride to the cockpit, and can't help but wonder just how the hell I got in the middle of this.

 

* * *

 

**Peter Parker**

 

I drift in and out of consciousness so many times, it becomes nearly impossible to tell the two apart.

It's like one of those hyper realistic, vivid dreams where you "wake up" but you're somehow still asleep.

It's disorienting, dizzying, distressing.

Huh.

I wonder how many other words I can come up with that start with the letter D.

Dismaying…disagreeable…dreadful…daunting…dire…

Dreaming. I'm dreaming, aren't I?

Dreaming of Ned, of MJ.

Dreaming that I'm lying on the cold, metal floor of a boat. No, wait, not a boat. A boat would be rocking, swaying. Whatever I am in is doing neither of those things. It's humming and accelerating and jostling. A van. I am in a van.

I dream I am lying on the cold, metal floor of a van. Yeah. And Michelle is here.

She's sitting in the corner, one leg straight out, the other bent so she can rest her sketchbook on her knee. She glances at me every so often, sometimes gnawing at her lip in concentration as the scratches of her pencil fill the silence.

She has pretty lips. This must be a good dream.

I watch her draw, my body feeling impossibly heavy. I have no desire to move, to speak, to do anything at all except watch her.

MJ finally sets down her pencil, and looks at the page with satisfaction. Glancing up, she catches me staring, and holds up the sketchbook so I can see what she's drawing.

Ice freezes the blood in my veins, and an almost painful chill shudders violently down my spine, making my fingertips and toes twitch slightly.

It's an insanely realistic drawing of me as Spiderman, but my mask is gone, and I am strapped to a table. Black, jagged pencil strokes surround it, and as I blink, I realize they aren't just scribbles, but menacing, towering figures. The worst part though, is my face.

In the drawing, I am screaming. Screaming in complete terror. Screaming like I am experiencing the most unimaginable pain. Screaming like they are killing me.

"Too disconcerting?" Michelle asks with a raised brow, her lips curving down into a pout.

Disconcerting. Another word to add to the list. I don't think this is a good dream anymore.

"Peter," she says, waiting for my answer.

Then the drawing begins to move. My eyes are fixed on it, my lips parting in horror as the black figures on the page bleed together, spreading across the page like spilled ink, smothering everything in its path. The darkness leaps from the page, staining MJ's fingers and shooting up her arm.

I want to shout a warning at her, I want to shove myself to my feet to rip the darkness off of her, but my uncooperative limbs only jerk and spasm. I am forced to watch as the black, a writhing shadowy mass now, spreads across her entire body, and she melts into the darkness.

"He's starting to wake up, give him another dose," a gruff voice cuts through the terrifying silence. I can't tear my eyes away from the shadows in the corner, my skin still prickling with fear.

"Damn super humans and their metabolisms," another voice grumbles before a large, rough hand is on my shoulder, and I feel a sharp prick of pain in my neck.

My eyelids are too heavy to keep open anymore. If they were ever open to begin with.

My twitching limbs relax, and then I am falling.

Falling.

Down, down, down, into the desolate dark.


	4. Back in Black

**Bucky Barnes**

"Why are you staring at me?" Steve asks from where he's sitting beside me. 

I keep my expression blank as I deadpan, "What the hell is on your face?" 

Steve scoffs in disbelief as his hand reaches up to rub at his chin. "It's called a beard, Buck." 

"You look ridiculous." 

"So you can have hair to your shoulders, but I can't have a beard?" Steve raises an eyebrow. 

"Mine suits me. Yours..." I trail off with a shrug, and he shakes his head with a quiet laugh. Across the jet, still seated at the controls, I see Tony Stark's spine stiffen. 

"I missed you, too." 

I look back at Steve, whose gaze is on my arm. 

"T'Challa?" he asks, all humor gone from his voice. 

"Stark." 

"Tony built you that?" his eyes are wide with surprise, and he glances back to the man at the front of the jet, then back to me. 

I give a short nod, curling the metal fingers, the dim lights of the jet reflecting off the dark, metallic surface. Steve looks as stunned as I had been when I'd been forcefully awoken from cryogenic sleep in Wakanda. 

* * *

_I inhale deeply, slowly, warmth seeping into my bones._

_There's a hiss of steam around me, and I feel my heart rate begin to increase, pumping my blood faster through my veins, warming my body. A few more deep breaths, and I begin to pry apart my heavy eyelids to blink at the room around me. Everything is blurred at first, and my eyes burn with the strain of trying to focus._

_"Easy," a voice murmurs. T'Challa._

_The king places a steadying hand on my shoulder as my breaths begin to come faster, easier, more natural. I give my head a shake, trying to orient myself, to wake up to full awareness._

_Relief is the first emotion to come to the surface. Relief, because I am myself, and my first instinct isn't to attack the man beside me. Hope comes next. If they've woken me, it means that perhaps they've found a way to eradicate the deep, tangled layers of brainwashing from my head._ Please _, my heart seems to say with every beat._ Please _._

_My vision begins to clear, and I look up at T'Challa's solemn face, giving him a nod._

_He moves his hand from my shoulder to my back, the other coming up to rest upon the center of my chest, steadying me as I lean forward and step out of the cryo-tube._

_I grunt softly, leaning against the king on wobbly legs as blood rushes suddenly to my unused limbs, prickling like thousands of needles. I take a few more breaths, staring at the floor, focusing on the grainy texture of the stone and the details of my bare feet. Then I give T'Challa another nod, my dark hair swaying with the movement. He slowly moves his hands away from me, and I sway slightly, but am finally able to stand on my own._

_I straighten and look up right into Tony Stark's face._

_BAM_

_His fist slams into my jaw, pain exploding all the way across my cheekbone, reverberating through my skull as I crash to the ground on my knees. My right arm shoots out to catch myself before my face can smash into the floor._

_"Sorry," Stark says, crouching in front of me. "Had to get that out of my system."_

_The billionaire then reaches a hand out to help me to my feet, and I look up at him through my hair before I take it._

_"Fair enough,"  I croak, my voice hoarse with sleep. He helps me stand, and I catch sight of T'Challa's disapproving expression as he frowns at Stark._

_I look around, now seeing the woman standing a few steps behind Stark with a large silver case in her hands. The Black Widow, I realize, taking in the newly blonde hair softly curling around her solemn face. Natasha Romanov. She gives me a short nod, her eyes wary._

_Steve is nowhere in sight._

_Stark is somehow able to read the thought in my searching eyes, that, or he knows me well enough by now. "Your boyfriend's in Brazil. We're picking him up next."_

_Unease curls in my gut. I can think of no other reason he would be here, that he plans on retrieving Steve, unless it is on orders from the government. They finally figured out our locations, and are arresting us and taking us to that godforsaken Raft._

_My eyes flick to T'Challa, my hand curling into a fist. Had he sold us out?_

_I won't be going without a fight._

_"Easy there, Tiny Tim," Stark says. "Quit giving his highness the stink eye. We found you all on our own."_

_I glower at Stark. "Tiny Tim was a cripple with a crutch, not a missing arm."_

_"Everyone's a critic," Stark murmurs, glancing back at Romanov with exasperation before meeting my eyes. "You know, there's only so many one armed fictional characters out there, and if you're anything like Cap, you aren't going to get any of my references."_

_"Maybe you should just get to the point," Romanov suggests with an arch of her brow._

_"Fine. Okay then, Luke Skywalker, here's the deal," Stark's expression is wiped clean of any humor, and is replaced with a look of such intensity, I feel my muscles tensing, preparing to fight back as he steps closer to me. "You owe me. Owe me big. So you are going to come with me to drag Rogers out of hiding, and then you are both going to help me. Got it?"_

_This isn't a sanctioned mission by the government to arrest us. This is something else. Some of my wariness eases slightly, but I remain on edge. "Help you with what?"_

_"You remember your old pals, Hydra, don't you?"_

_I stiffen. "What about them?"_

_"They took something of mine. And unless you want to see what happened to you happen to an innocent, fifteen year old kid, you're going to help me get him back," Stark answers shortly, his eyes blazing._

_Though I try to stifle it, there is no stopping the onslaught of images that shoot through my head at his words. My teeth grind against each other, my breath comes short and fast through my nose._

_A fifteen year old kid._

_I had been twenty when I enlisted in the war, experiencing the horrors of battle, and that was before I'd been captured and experimented on by Hydra._

_Fifteen._

_They're watching me, waiting for my answer._

_"Don't you think I'd be more of a liability where Hydra is concerned?" I say finally. "All it would take are a handful of words for me to turn on you."_

_"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Stark folds his arms over his chest as Romanov strides forward and places the large case on the ground at my feet. She steps back, her sharp eyes watching me intently._

_I glance at T'Challa, who has been watching the exchange without a word, and then I kneel, undoing the metal clasps and lifting the case open._

_For a moment, I just stare at it._

_The metal arm is nothing like the one Hydra built for me. It's made of thick, interlocking plates, the metal dark and lined with pale blue threads of light, the power source for whatever this arm is capable of._

_I look up at Stark, who kneels in front of me and leans in close, a shadow passing over his face. "You take one step out of line," he grits out in a voice like steel. "You make one wrong move against me or one of my own,  this arm will take you down faster than you can say do svidanya. We clear?"_

_"Crystal."_

_Naturally Stark would build a bionic arm that would strangle me if I somehow turned. Any hope I still had that the Wakandan scientists had found a way to free my mind of Hydra control vanishes. But...I am relieved that Stark installed these failsafes, that with this arm, at least I won't be able to hurt anyone else._

_"Good," Stark rises, his voice lighter like he hadn't just promised to kill me. "Let's go then. We'll install that on the way to get Rogers."_

_T'Challa shakes Stark's hand as I get to my feet, Romanov stepping forward to close and pick up the case._

_"Good luck," the king tells him. "And the next time you sneak into my country without an invitation, I will shoot first and ask questions later."_

_"Fair," Stark shrugs easily. "It's been a pleasure, highness."_

_T'Challa turns to me, his brown eyes full of promise. "We have not given up on you yet, my friend. The answer is close, and when you return, we will help you take back your mind."_

* * *

_If_ I return, I think, and look away from the bionic limb. 

"Bucky?" Steve's voice inquires softly. "You okay?" 

"Fine," I answer. 

I'm fine, I tell myself. I have to be. 

* * *

 

**Peter Parker**

_Squeeaak, squeeaak, squeeaak._

My teeth clench at the grating, repetitive squeaking sound that burrows into my ears with a sharp whine. Beneath my closed eyelids, I can see rhythmic flashes of insanely bright light followed by deep shadows. 

Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. 

_Squeeak, squeeaak, squeeaak._

God, it's  _awful._

I can barely stifle a groan of protest, scrunching up my face at the pain. 

It's too much for my heightened senses, too much for my already throbbing and dizzy head. I try to swallow, but my tongue feels thick and dry, too large for my mouth. I want to roll over, want to bury my head beneath something, _anything_ , to smother the sounds and the light. 

But I can't. 

I can't turn my body or my head at all. 

Wriggling slightly, I can now feel the thick, weighted straps across my chest, my thighs, my shins, pinning me down and keeping my limbs pressed tightly to my body. I don't think it would matter if the straps were there or not. My body feels like it weighs an extra hundred pounds, and the effort it would take to even lift my hand seems astronomical. 

My breath begins to come in quick, shallow pants as my insides constrict with panic. 

Trapped. I'm _trapped_. I can't move. Why can't I move? 

The sharp squeaking suddenly intensifies as my entire body changes direction in a dizzying jerk that makes my stomach lurch. I swallow down the violent wave of nausea. 

_Come on, Peter_ , I urge myself mentally as my heart thuds too fast in my heaving chest. _Think. Take stock of your surroundings. You can do this. Just. Stay. Calm._

I take a deep breath through my nose, wincing at the overly sterile, sharp smell. Bleach. Metal. Chemicals.

Strapped down. Moving. Squeaky wheels. 

Ok. So I am tied down on a gurney, being wheeled down a long hallway. 

Hospital? 

No. It's too silent. Silent, except for the horrible screeching wheels and the marching footsteps on tile floor. 

Hospitals are never silent. 

Why do I feel so sick, so disoriented? Why is it so hard to think, to move? 

The gurney lurches as it turns again, and I have to clench my teeth to swallow the bile rising in my throat. 

_Come on, Peter, think_ , I order myself firmly. _Remember_. 

School. I was in school, and Ned--I was walking home with Ned. We were talking about something...something important?...at least it feels like it was important. MJ! We were talking about MJ and then--then I was...

I was being followed. 

The images begin to flow faster now, like a horribly vivid movie on fast forward, and I feel like the ground beneath the gurney is spinning with the force of it. My heart is galloping in my chest, each beat more painful than the last. 

I was captured. I was captured by Hydra. Freaking Hydra! Drugged and taken and now I must be in one of their evil lairs somewhere--

Oh god. 

This is wrong. So wrong on so many levels. This is like, Captain America's territory, the Avengers level of huge. I am just Peter Parker, just Spiderman, just the friendly neighborhood hero looking out for the little guy. I shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be happening. 

The gurney jerks as it slams into something hard, sending shockwaves of pain through my skull. 

" _Vorsichti_ ," a sharp voice snaps nearby, startling me. 

German. I think that was German. The realization makes them seem a hell of a lot more real, more terrifying. 

" _Setzen Sie ihn hierher._ " 

The gurney stops moving. 

I don't know what will be worse, opening my eyes to see what is about to happen, or staying in the dark, unknowing, waiting. 

My eyelids slowly pry open. I blink rapidly, my eyes watering from the intense light glaring down above me. My whole body trembles, but I can't tell if it's from my rising fear, or the bone-chilling cold of the room I am in. 

Everything is slightly blurry, slightly doubled, my eyes unable to focus on anything for too long as they flit from one thing to another. 

Holy shit. 

It looks like I've been dropped straight into a horror movie. 

Dingy gray walls, stained concrete floors, massive machines that look like they've come from a hospital, some that look like they came straight from a mad scientist's lab... monitors and holographic screens, tables covered in equipment, vials, beakers, needles, _knives_...

It all hits me in a dizzying wave of information, an assault of bright images and sounds and smells that overload my body with crushing panic. 

Is this really happening? 

_"Er is wach_ ," a voice comes from my left, and my head whips to face it, my sight blurring in a wash of color from the movement. 

When it clears slightly, I see an old man in a stark white coat looking down at me. 

At least, I think he's looking down at me. The harsh light coming down from the ceiling is glaring on his glasses, making it impossible to see his eyes. There's just the stern cut of his mouth, his clean shaven jaw, the slicked back white hair. 

Icy fingers grip my chin, making me flinch violently. He turns my head this way and that, the tight straps preventing me from pulling away as he examines me with a frown. I flinch again as someone from my right leans over me. All I can see is their white coat and gloved hands as they attach wired, circular monitors to my bare, sweat slicked chest. 

" _Nadel und spritze,_ " the old man orders in a hard voice, letting go of my face. Someone comes up behind him, handing him a large syringe, the needle at the end glinting in the light. 

"No, wait," I croak, my voice cracking. " _Don't_ -" 

Steadying my left arm with one hand, he slides the needle into the crook of my arm, making me wince. Horrified, I watch as my crimson blood begins to fill the vial at the other end of the syringe. I can't look away, even as someone is strapping something around my other arm. 

The old man removes the needle and syringe, holding the vial up to the light and tapping it gently. His face tilts down as he looks at me, the light glinting off of his circular glasses. 

" _Lass uns anfangen_ ," his words are cold, clinical, and I swear I feel them slithering down my spine as he repeats himself in english. "Let's begin."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Enter Sandman

**Tony Stark**

_"H-hey, Mr. Stark. I'm sorry to bother you, I mean, I know you are probably busy. But…but I think…I think I'm being followed. And they don't really look like your typical New Yorkers looking for an easy hit…It might be nothing, I can probably handle it, but I-"_

The message ends with an abrupt click.

"Play it again," I order F.R.I.D.A.Y., and stare out at the dense white and gray clouds that the jet is steadily cutting through. The A.I. obliges, and I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms as the voicemail repeats itself.

_"H-hey, Mr. Stark. I'm sorry to bother you, I mean, I know you are probably busy.…"_

This is pointless.

I have the damn thing memorized now, and there's no hidden clue, no secret message, no answers within it. F.R.I.D.A.Y had already torn the audio clip apart and delved through every single decibel of the message as well as the short phone call I had with Peter before he was taken. There's nothing else to gain by listening to it.

"Again."

_"H-hey, Mr. Stark. I'm sorry to bother you..."_

God, I'm such a masochist.

Scrubbing at my jaw, I can't help but wonder if I had answered that first phone call, if I would have been able to get to him in time to prevent all this. I'm pretty sure I would have.

That meeting had been important, I'd tried to rationalize. I'd figured that the kid was probably just giving me an update on his latest patrol, or calling to tell me he'd changed his mind about the whole becoming an Avenger thing. It could wait, I'd thought. Or Peter would call Happy and he'd handle it. Not important.

Something had nagged at me though, making it impossible to focus on Pepper's voice and the replies of the other company CEOs I had been meeting with. The icon on my phone telling me that the kid had left a voicemail had glared up at me. So I'd excused myself, ignoring Pepper's incredulous glare, and gone into the hall to listen.

Not important, I had thought. Not important.

I need a drink.

"Again."

_"H-hey, Mr. Stark…"_

"How many times are you going to do that to yourself?"

I don't bother turning to look as the blonde assassin seats herself next to me in the copilot's chair.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" I ask, ignoring her question. "Suiting up, double checking maps and equipment, flirting with Rogers?"

"We're as ready as we can be. And I wasn't flirting."

"No? Could've fooled me. You practically had your hands running through that majestic beard of his. Banner will be jealous."

"Are you ever going to answer my question, or are you just going to keep deflecting and trying to provoke me?"

"Who's deflecting? Bruce still a sore subject, is he?"

"When's the last time you slept?" she asks, trying a different angle. Smart. Annoying and persistent, but smart. "Your dark circles have dark circles."

Ouch.

"I liked you better when you were a redhead," I say shortly.

Silence descends, and I can feel those eyes of hers boring into me. Natasha's changing tactics again. The spider is weaving her web of tense quiet and uncomfortable stares and is waiting patiently for her prey to crack. It won't work. I know her games.

I keep my eyes straight ahead, but in my peripherals I can see that she is sitting perfectly still, her legs crossed, arms folded. Poised and patient.

It won't work. It won't.

"What?" I snap finally, turning towards her. "What do you want me to say? No, I haven't slept. I can't sleep because the guilt is eating me alive. And I'm going to listen to this message as many times as I want, because I didn't listen to it when it would have counted, and it's all I can do while I sit in this goddamn jet with you hair-changing psychopaths."

Natasha just tilts her head slightly. "Was that so hard?"

I let out an exasperated sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. The headache that has been steadily building for the past twenty-four hours is now throbbing in tandem to my heartbeat. "F.R.I.D.A.Y, make a note to restock all the jets with mass amounts of painkillers when we get back. The good stuff, not the over the counter shit we have in the first aid kits. And let's add in espresso machines while we're at it."

"We'll get him back, Tony," Natasha's voice is gentle.

"Don't," I warn her, dropping my hand from my face. "Don't make those empty promises. You know better than that. There is no guaranteeing what will be left of him by the time we get there."

"You heard what T'Challa told Barnes before we left the palace," she reminds me. "His scientists are close to finding a way to wipe the brainwashing out of his head. Permanently. If they are messing with the kid's mind, the Wakandans can help."

"Yeah, well, what if they aren't just brainwashing him, Nat? They could be torturing him, experimenting on him, hell, they could have killed him already, and we'd have no clue," I reply sharply. A heavy weight sits on my chest, and l try to take a deep breath to alleviate it. It does nothing. "The kid is my responsibility. Whatever happens to him is on me."

"Peter's a strong kid, Tony. He's young and resilient. He'll make it. He'll be okay."

I eye her with a frown. "And how the hell do you know that he's a strong kid?"

Natasha smirks in that knowing way of hers. "Tracking Hydra's movement wasn't my only side project while on the run from Ross and his lackeys."

Jesus Christ. Was there anyone who _didn't_   know about the kid and his extracurricular activities?

Natasha rises from her chair and leans against the console. "I can think of a few better ways for you to spend your time instead of wallowing in-"

"-Yeah, I'm going to stop you there, because first off, I don't _wallow_. Second, I know where you're going with that, and the answer is no."

She huffs, her cool exterior finally cracking enough for me to see her irritation. "There are only a million reasons why it would be a good idea, but I'm not going to hold your hand and list it out for you. You're the genius here, start acting like it. Talk to them."

With that, Natasha strides off, muttering under her breath about men acting like complete children.

Maybe she's right. I can think of just as many reasons as she can why hashing it out and burying the hatchet with Cap and Barnes right now would be beneficial all around. It would be the smart thing to do. Maybe even the best thing to do before we reach the Hydra base.

From the back of the jet I hear the sound of Barnes murmuring.

I should do it.

Steve's quiet laugh seems to echo across the space, and I feel my spine stiffening in response, my muscles tensing slightly.

I should just do it.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, play the message again."

_"Yes, boss."_

_"H-hey, Mr. Stark…"_

* * *

 

**Peter Parker**

"What are you doing?"

I slowly drag my eyelids open and find that I can only open them halfway.

Blearily, I stare at Michelle, sitting cross legged in the corner of my cell. It's too much of an effort to keep them open for long, and she is just sitting there, watching me, so I let them drift shut again. I'm so tired, and everything _hurts_.

"Peter."

"What?" the word is slurred, and I don't even bother trying to open my eyes again. I wish she'd just let me sleep.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you," I mumble back. If I am seeing her, hearing her here, then they must have drugged me again. That or they broke me, and I've gone crazy. I'm too exhausted and sore to bring myself to care which it is.

She's quiet for awhile, and I think maybe she disappeared. That's good. I don't want her here, don't want them to hurt her too.

The cement is hard underneath my body, freezing against my cheek, my bare chest, but I don't even have the energy to roll over and curl up into a ball to try and conserve warmth. Just the thought of attempting it makes the soreness in my back flare. Without MJ's voice filling the silence, the incessant buzzing of the bright fluorescent lights seems to intensify, dragging jagged nails across my ravaged eardrums.

God, I just want to go _home_.

The thought hits me so violently, so intensely, my breath hitches, and warmth blossoms beneath my closed eyelids.

Home. I can visualize it so vividly, I can almost feel the soft, slightly lumpy couch beneath my body instead of the unforgiving cement floor. I can almost smell Aunt May's favorite candle burning; the overpowering scent of cherry blossoms and jasmine that I secretly think smells like an old lady, but would never tell her that. I can almost feel her hand brushing my hair away from my face, her nails gently grazing my scalp, lulling me to sleep.

Warmth trails slowly across my cheeks.

A scratching noise begins to fill the cell, covering up the hum of the lights, and I sigh heavily. MJ is back, or she never left. And she's drawing again. I don't think I want her to. It goes on for awhile, so I force my eyes back open.

MJ's wildly curly hair is slipping from her ponytail. Tendrils of it keep falling in front of her eyes, and she brushes them back with a huff of annoyance. My fingers twitch, and I wish suddenly I could tuck them behind her ear for her. I bet her hair is soft. Her brows are knitted together in concentration as she draws, her eyes intense and focused on the page before her.

I remember then, the last thing she drew, and suddenly I know for a fact that I don't want to see her new drawing. I start to close my eyes again when she sits up straighter, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips.

"There," she says, lifting her drawing pad and turning it so that I can see.

It's another realistic depiction of me. This time I am on my stomach, a massive needle the length of my body stabbing into my back, pinning me to a white wall. My limbs are spread, my head turned to one side, my eyes open and glassy. Around me are smaller shadowboxes filled with different species of spiders, all pinned in place, all dead. I look like the crown jewel of an arachnologist's collection.

Phantom pain prickles across my chilled skin and stabs deep into my lower back as I stare at it. For a moment, I can feel the needle as it descends through skin into my spine.

Wait. Wait a moment.

That had actually happened. One of the many tests they'd performed on me in that lab. The one with the doctor who had no eyes. They'd turned me over, strapped me down, driven what had felt like an impossibly long needle into my back. It had taken ages, and when I wouldn't stop talking, stop pleading, they'd shoved a gag in my mouth.

"What did they do to you, Peter?" Michelle asks with a frown, letting the pad drop into her lap. The pencil clatters loudly as it drops to the cement floor.

Cut me open, injected me, hurt me, shoved me into their machines. Performed countless tests and experiments like I was nothing but a lab rat. Found out what made me tick.

And I hadn't even fought back.

"You couldn't have. They'd drugged you, Peter, and it was still in your system. There was nothing you could've done," MJ says it so matter-of-factly, and leans against the wall, her hair falling forward again in front of her eyes.

Huh. Had I said those things out loud? Or could Michelle read minds now?

"You're drugged, remember? I'm not real, doofus," she rolls her eyes.

Oh. Right.

My head feels thick and fuzzy. It's hard to keep my thoughts straight.

I swallow thickly, wishing desperately for a drink of water. The thought intensifies the desert dryness in my throat and makes the cracked skin of my lips feel even tighter. God, I'm so thirsty. When was the last time I'd had anything to drink? To eat? How long have I been here? How long _will_   I be here?

My heartbeat quickens, my chest tightening as I wonder how many more tests I will be put through, how many times they will take me apart and put the pieces back together before they kill me.

I don't want to die here. I don't want to die.

"You won't," MJ says, stretching her legs out in front of her and accidentally kicking her fallen pencil. It rolls in my direction, grazing my fingertips as it spins past me. I marvel for a moment at how realistic my hallucinations are and wonder what kind of drugs they are giving me.

"I won't?" I ask aloud, blinking blearily at her.

"Isn't someone coming for you?" Michelle is looking at me like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

And it is. I feel some of my muscles relaxing ever so slightly at the realization.

Of course. Of course someone is coming for me. Mr. Stark is coming. Iron-man is coming. He is an Avenger, and Hydra is no match for someone like him. Tension eases in my chest, my fear and panic lessening with the realization.

He's coming for me. I just have to hang on until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much all of you who are reviewing!! Your words mean the world to me, and I love hearing your thoughts! Will try to post again soon!


	6. Fade to Black

**Chapter Six: Fade to Black**

* * *

 

**Peter Parker**

The moment I open my eyes, I know they've made a mistake.

I am exhausted, my body and head aching from the myriad of tests and drugs I've been subjected to, but I am entirely lucid. Whatever drug they gave me, it must not have been as strong of a dose, or someone had forgotten to give me another. Or maybe they thought that with everything they did to me, I would be too weak to need additional doses. Whatever the reason, these guys had screwed up.

My heart is racing in my chest, sending adrenaline coursing through my body as I lay face down on the cement floor of my cell.

It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes closed and body relaxed, when the frantic energy filling my veins is demanding me to move, to fight and to run. I force my chest to keep rising and falling in a slow, steady pattern as I listen, my ears straining to capture every sound, anything that might help me.

_There_.

Underneath the grating buzz of the fluorescent lights, I can hear a steady hum, the whir of a camera as it focuses on my prone body on the floor.

I knew it. They are watching me.

I have to lay still, to feign sleep until someone comes to open that cell door, or they will send who knows how many agents to subdue me and drug me again.

My fingers twitch slightly, either from the thought of being drugged and experimented on again, or from my shattered nerves. Tension coils in my gut, and I am almost trembling from the effort it takes to keep my body still and relaxed. I wait, petrified that my small movement has given me away, and that any second now my cell would be flooded with bad guys.

Seconds pass. Minutes.

God, how do people _do_ this in the movies?

With every passing moment, I can feel my heart rate increasing, my muscles becoming more rigid with the need to _move_ , to do _something_. How long will I have to wait for someone to open that door? What if no one comes for hours?

And then a more random thought hits me. I wish I was wearing more than just sweatpants. I know an escape would be a hell of a lot easier, not to mention cooler, in my suit as Spiderman, instead of in threadbare sweatpants as Peter Parker.

I can't take it anymore.

My nervous energy is spiking, and I am going to have to just risk it and try breaking down the door myself. I stopped a bus with my bare hands, lifted several tons of concrete from my back. I can break down a locked, reinforced metal door. Then make a run for it. I got this.

My hands press flat against the floor, ready to shove myself up.

The heavy lock on the door clicks suddenly, the sound thundering against my raw nerves, and I can't help but suck in a sharp breath and hold it in anticipation. My ears pick up two sets of footsteps entering my cell.

Holy shit.

Okay, here goes nothing. No big deal, Peter. I'm just about to attempt to escape from a Hydra facility that's god knows where and filled with soldiers and scientists who probably want to kill me. I'm Spiderman. This'll be cake.

I am so going to die.

_"Der Junge schläft noch."_

_"Wen interessiert das? Geben Sie ihm die zweite Dosis, damit wir ihn zu Doktor Muller bringen können."_

I am still holding my breath as the two hydra soldiers approach my prone body. As soon as their bodies block the intense light, their shadows falling over me, I spring into action.

My eyes shoot open, and I am rolling onto my back, sweeping my leg out and knocking the first man's legs out from underneath him. He lands on his back with a cry of pain, a liquid filled syringe falling from his open palm. The other man's eyes are wide as he raises his gun, his lips parting to yell a warning. Crap, crap, shut him down, Parker!

I seize the syringe, shooting to my feet and yanking the man forward by his jacket. He stumbles forward, and I jab the needle into his neck, pressing down on the end of the syringe as I do so.

The man slumps heavily forward, his gun clattering to the floor, and I side step him as his large body crushes his companion's. The first man groans at the sudden weight pinning him down.

"Enjoy your nap," I call as I bolt out of the cell, bursting into a dingy hallway with the same cement floors and walls as my cell, and the same overly bright fluorescent lighting. Doors line the hall, but they remain closed, and there are thankfully no other soldiers in sight.

I sprint for the door at the end of the hall, praying that it leads to a stairwell or main corridor, that I am running in the right direction and not deeper into bad guy territory. God, that would just be my luck, wouldn't it? Finally able to make a break for it, and I'd end up running straight into like, a massive barracks of armed soldiers.

My head is throbbing in time to my raging heartbeat, and my sore, unused muscles are groaning in protest.

Warning flares at the base of my skull, and I skid to a halt just as my hand was reaching for the handle on the door. My arms flailing at the sudden stop, I lunge to the side, pressing my bare back against the cool cement wall as the door bursts open and swings to a stop just inches from my face.

I leap up, my palms latching on and sticking to the ceiling as I slam my feet into the door. It crashes violently into the first Hydra soldier, who yells out in pain as he is pinned halfway through the doorway.

"Sorry about that," I say as I drop to the ground. "Let me get the door for you."

I yank open the door, and grabbing fistfuls of the injured man's uniform, I shove him with all my strength into the other soldiers trying to shove their way into the hall. They go crashing like dominoes as I leap nimbly over them, relief filling my chest at the sight of the stairwell beyond their fallen, struggling forms.

Up, I think instinctively, and race forward, taking the stairs about five at a time. It's gotta be up. Down will probably lead me deeper into their base, and I haven't seen any windows, any natural light. If I had to guess, we are in a lower level of some kind of facility, maybe even underground.

There are shouts echoing behind me, followed by the sounds of pounding footsteps. I reach the next landing and glance down behind me, my stomach dropping.

Holy crap.

There has to be at least a dozen coming at me from below, and there is no telling how many more are heading my way from the other levels.

Ok then, time to pick up the pace.

Instead of running for the next set of stairs, I pull myself up onto the railing overlooking the lower levels of the stairwell, my bare feet balancing easily on the bar. I see some of the Hydra soldiers take aim with their weapons, but I am already leaping into the air far higher than any normal person could. My fingers curl around the metal railing of the next landing up as the sound of gunshots explode through the stairwell, the loud, echoing sounds bursting against my sensitive ears.

I yank myself up onto the next railing, twisting my body and leaping for the next before the soldiers below can take aim again.

Faster, I urge myself as I surge from landing to landing, losing count of how many levels I have ascended, while the men below race after me on the stairs and fire a seemingly endless amount of tranquilizer rounds at me.

Sweat is pouring down my neck, my back, and my muscles are on fire.

Just as I am pulling myself onto the next landing, my senses scream at me in warning, and I drop back, flattening myself to the floor as several darts embed themselves into the railing right where my hands had been just seconds before. Crap, that was close.

The stairwell is an explosion of sound, layers upon layers of gunshots, footsteps, shouts and commands, all bouncing off of each other in a cacophony of chaos.

So I don't notice it immediately when the pounding of boots on cement stairs is not only coming from below me, but above. I am pushing myself to my feet when the first soldier descends around the corner from the stairs in front of me, his body lowered in a crouch as he takes aim.

"Shit!" I curse as I barrel into the door just as he fires.

I feel the breeze as the tranquilizer dart barely misses my right shoulder and embeds itself into the door frame behind me. This corridor is much larger than the narrow hallway where my cell had been located and filled with offshoots of smaller halls and corridors, all lined with steel doors. Still no windows. There's no time to consider that I may be running straight for a dead end now that the stairwell is no longer an option.

I take the first hallway on my right, then another left as the hall ends abruptly.

The shouts and footsteps are getting louder. They're gaining on me, fast.

The next hallway ends in a large set of double doors that I slam into, stumbling slightly as they burst violently open, and I am instantly, suddenly blinded by sharp, searing white light.

I cry out, throwing my arms up and squeezing my eyes shut as I stumble to a halt.

Freezing, glacial wind barrels into me, the cold cutting deep into my body as it whips through my hair and penetrates my skin into my very bones. I've never been so cold in my entire life. It's the kind of cold that takes your breath away, that feels like knives driving into you as your insides constrict, rebel against it. 

What the _hell_?

Slowly, I lower my arms and rapidly blink my watering eyes so they can adjust to the light.

Even if the freezing temperatures hadn't just stolen the air from my heaving lungs, the sight before me would have.

I stare, my wide eyes burning, my mouth dropping open in shock, in horror at the endless sea of white and grey around me. I fall to my knees, any hope of escape shriveling and dying in my chest, vanishing as abruptly as my breath had.

Oh god. No _freaking_ way.

I am completely surrounded by jagged, snow covered mountains. There's no telling what mountain range this is, hell, even what country I am in. For all I know, I've been dropped into one of the most remote places in the world, the kind of place that only photographers and researchers studying the elusive snow leopard would venture to. The kind of place no one would accidentally stumble upon a secret base nestled between two towering peaks encased in glacial ice. 

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore. 

The air is thin, my chest heaving with the effort it takes to draw in breath, my muscles already violently trembling from the cold. 

I can't escape. 

That thought is colder than the ice around me. 

I wouldn't last an hour wearing nothing but threadbare pants in a never ending sea of mountains and snow and cliffs and ice. My superhuman enhancements wouldn't save me from hypothermia, and I don't even think my spectacular ability to stick to things would work well with ice. I am well and truly screwed.

 " _Wir haben ihn_ ," growls a voice from behind me, breaking me from my devastated trance.

The Hydra soldiers have caught up with me, and I hear the click of their weapons as they take aim at my exposed back.

I make no move to fight them. What's the point? I am outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped in the middle of nowhere with the most evil organization on the planet. There's nothing I can do. Nothing, except wait, and hope that Ironman had found my clue, had found someway to track me here, and that any moment he will be bearing down on them to get me out. 

There's a click of a trigger, a soft whoosh of air, and then something sharp pierces my left shoulder blade. 

Familiar numbness seeps through my exhausted limbs, my head going light and dizzy. I sway, still on my knees, watching as the whites of the mountains, of the thick clouds curling around their peaks, all begin to spin and melt together. 

_Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope._  

I feel myself tilting forward, my chest and the side of my face hitting the hard, icy snow drenching the ground. Darkness washes over me, blotting the endless, bright white, and dragging me down in a prickling, spiralling descent. 

_Mr. Stark_ , I think blearily. _Mr. Stark, not Obi-Wan._

Mr. Stark is my only hope. He's coming for me. He's coming. He's---

* * *

 

Gloved fingers pry my eyelids apart to shine a horrifically bright beam of light directly into my eyes. 

I flinch away, jerking my head to the side and trying to rapidly blink away the spots clouding over my vision.

A rapid, high pitched beeping noise fills the air, and after a brief, panicked moment, I realize it matches the accelerating beat of my heart. My breath comes in quick, shallow pants as I try to move, only to find out I am once again strapped down. But it is not to a moving gurney this time. It's to some kind of table, tilted into an almost upright position, and the heavily weighted straps have moved to around my wrists, my ankles, across my chest and thighs.

My head is whipping around, ears straining to hear over the shrill tone of what has to be a heart monitor, the din of murmuring voices, the clanking sound of metal against metal.

The spots in my vision begin to dissipate, and I can finally see what is around me.

Oh my god.

Shit. I am in deep, unending shit.

It has to be the largest room in the entire facility, long and rectangular, with a second level overhang ensconced in metal railing wrapping around the entire length of it. The second level has a large window glaring down at me, and I realize with a stab of unease that it is a two way mirror.

Directly in front of me, at the end of the room, is a massive set of metal double doors, with two Hydra agents holding menacing looking weapons standing guard. All around me loom massive machines, the kind of which I have never seen before and can't even begin to guess what they are used for. Monitors and screens cast the room in an eerie, greenish glow as scientists, doctors, and more heavily armed agents move purposefully about the room.

Tension and anticipation hang thick in the air. Something _huge_ is about to go down.

And I am tied down in the center of all of it.

_Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap._

Panic. I am definitely panicking.

My chest aches with the force of my heart slamming against my ribcage, and I am breathing so quickly, gray spots are starting to edge around my vision. I thrash and writhe against my bonds, trying to get any kind of leverage to tear myself free. I don't care if it won't do me any good, if they will just take me down the moment I get loose. I have to get _out_.

Sweat is pouring down my temple, down my bare chest, and I can feel numbness spread from my fingertips, to my palms, up my forearms.

God, I think I am close to passing out. Not good. Not good, don't pass out. 

The old man from before stands suddenly in front of me, his mouth cut in a thin line, the green glow from the machines reflecting off his round glasses.

"Take a deep breath through your nose," he advises in a thick accent, his voice cold, clinical. "Out through your mouth." 

I stare at him with wide eyes. Is he kidding? Is the evil scientist actually giving me advice on how to chill the eff out? Still, the gray spots are swooping, and my body feels like it might be falling, so I do as he says. It's sort of in my best interest to stay conscious right now. 

I think. 

"Good," the old man praises, his chilled, gloved hand patting my arm. I jerk at the touch. "This will be over shortly." 

"What will?" I swallow, heart still racing, but the panic dulling enough to keep me awake and aware. 

The old man shifts, the reflective glow on his glasses diminishing enough for me to see his narrowed, pale blue eyes glinting behind them. "The most prestigious of ventures, Mr. Parker, the highest of honors. You have been selected to ascend the evolutionary ladder even further than has ever been attempted." 

Well. This is infinitely worse than I ever could have imagined. 

"Hard pass," I choke out. 

The scientist's lips quirk up ever so slightly. "Greatness is rarely thrust upon the willing, _mein junger Freund."_

"How 'bout we thrust it on you, then, doc?" I ask with more bravado than I feel. 

"My purpose is not to be great, but to help others achieve greatness. The world will never forget this day, nor what I have done to make it happen. History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it." 

Foreboding...so much foreboding in a handful of sentences but--

"Did you honestly just quote Churchill?" I ask skeptically. _"You?"_

"I'm impressed," the old man smiles. "You know Winston Churchill."

"I had to write my midterm on his role in World War II," I say, then blink. Why did I just tell him that? "Which _you_ lost by the way."

An assistant comes up from behind him and murmurs something in German. The doctor nods and replies back, his lips curving up slightly in a pleased expression. The sight makes my stomach drop somewhere beneath my feet.

"Do not worry, Mr. Parker. I have full confidence that you will succeed where many others have failed," he gives me a nod and turns away. "Together, we shall make history, you and I."

Wait, _what_?

"What does that mean?" I call after him, the pitch of my voice rising as I start to pull against my bonds once more. "What the hell does that mean, 'Where many others have failed'? Failed at what?"

He doesn't turn or bother responding, but speaks quickly with some of the other scientists gathered around a table covered in unfamiliar, menacing looking equipment.

I pull and writhe and yank, but the drugs remaining in my bloodstream have weakened me enough that I can't pull myself free. I let out a groan of frustration and slump back against the table, panting.

Stay calm, Parker. Try and find something you can use. 

I turn my head, catching sight of the multiple monitors, lit up with a myriad of files and complicated looking programs and diagrams. I squint at them, trying to read the multitude of files that are currently pulled up, but the print is too small to make out. The pictures, however, I can see just fine. And suddenly I wish I couldn't.

There are twelve black and white photographs. Twelve pictures of twelve people. With twelve red X's slashed across each one of them.

_"You will succeed where many others have failed."_

Oh my god.

"Gentlemen!" the lead doctor calls out suddenly, loudly, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My head whips back towards him. He is standing with his back to me, looking towards the large two way mirror glaring down at us, his arms outstretched. The other scientists have all stopped their movements to watch and listen. "You have been patient thus far, when our experiments have failed again and again, and I assure you, your patience has been well worth the wait. Thanks to your generous assistance, we have finally found a suitable candidate, and we believe this will be the final trial."

English. He's speaking to whoever is behind that window in English. That's important, but I am panicking so badly, I can't think of why.

Even though I can't see them, I am very aware of multiple pairs of eyes boring into me. I feel stripped down, naked, vulnerable in a way I've never felt before in my entire life. And while Doctor Psycho seems confident that I will be a success in whatever nightmarish experiment they plan on performing on me, I'm not so convinced.

An image flashes in my mind; another failed trial, another black and white photo added to the list, a blood red X crossing over my face.

Then comes an even worse thought. What will it mean for me, if whatever they do to me actually _works_?

I don't know how anyone can hear the doctor's speech over the sound of my thundering heartbeat.

"You have waited long enough for what we have promised you. So without further ado, let us begin," he finishes, turning to his assistants. " _Bereiten Sie die Probe vor."_

One of the men nods and strides to the large table on my left, bending over and picking up a thick, metal case the size of a shoebox and setting it up on the table. I can't tear my eyes away from it, and I can't remember the last time I have blinked.

He opens it, steam pouring out from the edges with a sharp hiss. A second man steps forward, thick long gloves enclosing his hands and forearms, and reaches into the container. Every sense, every single part of me is riveted on the case and its contents. The scientist lifts something out of it, edging slowly to the left side of the container, his body blocking my view as he sets it gently onto the table.

_Move, damn it!_

He steps aside, and I find myself leaning forward as far as I can to see it.

I blink. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this.

No medieval or modern torture device, no large vial of glowing serum, but an ordinary petri dish that contains something small and inky black.

The first assistant is back, a delicate metal rod in his hands, and with a jerk, pale blue electricity crackles between the prongs at the very end of it. When the lid of the petri dish is lifted, the man jabs at the spot of darkness, sparks flying, and steps suddenly back.

My eyes are wide, and I can't look away from the tiny fragment of black.

It moves.

It freaking _moved_.

Sharp, prickling chills stab like needles across my skin, nausea lurching as my stomach twists itself into horrible, complicated knots. For a moment, I think maybe I had imagined the movement, that it had just been a trick of the light. But then it twitches again, a small tendril of darkness shifting, like it is stretching. Whatever that thing is, it is alive.

Oh _shit_.

The old man approaches the table, his hands now covered in the same rubber gloves, and slowly reaches down with a large, oddly shaped syringe. Gently, as if he is coaxing it, he touches the tip of the needle to the black spot's surface, and in a gradual, painfully sluggish movement, sucks the darkness up into the syringe.

As one, they all look up at me.

Fear like I have never experienced slams into me, and I am no longer Peter Parker. I am a cornered animal, trapped and threatened and utterly alone.

"What is that? _What is it?!_ " I don't even recognize my own voice as I thrash wildly against the straps holding me down.

The doctor is moving towards me, holding the syringe with careful, reverent hands.

"Keep that thing _away_ from me! _Don't_ -"

A shadow falls over me before a firm hand suddenly grasps my jaw from behind, yanking it open in a violent move I know will leave bruises. My yells and cries are muffled as a thick rubber bar is suddenly shoved between my teeth, smashing against my tongue. Then the hand moves from my jaw to grip my hair and jerk my head painfully forward as the straps on either end of the rubber bar are stretched and clasped at the back of my skull.

I shout and yell through the gag, shaking my head and pulling on my restraints with as much strength as I can muster. I can't even hear what they are saying around me, my heart is beating so wildly, so loudly in my head.

The doctor is beside me, the greenish light glinting off the needle, the darkness inside the syringe a depthless black that seems to absorb any light that touches it.

" _Nnnnnn_!" I am screaming, my head shaking frantically back and forth as my hands curl into fists. " _Nnn! Plss nnn!_ "

A gloved hand presses against my heaving chest, stabilizing my body while the syringe begins to descend. I feel the tip of the needle press against the skin just above my thundering heart.

The doctor pauses for a moment, looking at the others around him a final time before he takes a deep, steadying breath.

This is the moment, I think wildly.

This is when Ironman will make his grand, spectacularly dramatic entrance and explode through those doors. I look towards them, hope rising wildly in my chest. He will take everyone down in a matter of minutes, tear me out of this, and take me home.

He's coming for me. I know he is. He's-

The needle stabs into my body as the old man's hand plunges down on the syringe.

I freeze, my muscles locking up and my breath stilling in my lungs as I stare down at the descending darkness with wide, horrified eyes. I am trembling, trembling so badly my teeth would be chattering if it weren't for the bar shoved between them.

The syringe is now empty, and I am so in shock, I can't even feel the needle pulling out of my skin as the doctor smoothly removes it. I am hyperventilating, my body shaking so violently I think I might shatter into a million pieces. A dull roar fills my ears, making all the sounds around me faint and muffled.

I can't look away from that spot on my chest where a small bead of crimson blood has appeared.

I can feel it. Oh god, I can actually _feel_ it.

It rests above my heart, unmoving, a kernel of ice so cold, it's burning inside of me. My vision blurs as warm wetness pools in my eyes and slips down my cheeks. Pain flares in my palms as I clench my hands so tightly, my fingernails are embedding themselves into my skin.

He didn't come. He isn't here. He's not coming.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't _breathe_.

Tense voices are speaking sharply around me, but even if they are speaking English, I can't hear or understand them over the ringing in my ears.

I'm going to die here. Whatever they put in me will kill me, and I will be just another failed experiment. I'll never see May again, or Ned, or Michelle. Or Mr. Stark. God, what I wouldn't give to even just hear Karen's soothing voice, just for a minute.

I jerk, jumping violently as I feel smooth, cold metal suddenly pressing against the skin on either side of my temples. My head is suddenly immobile, and I glance around wildly with wide eyes. What is that? What are they doing to me now? What-

_Pain_.

My entire body seizes, my back arching, muscles instantly locking up, cramping so violently I think they will snap. Unbearable heat is vibrating and coursing through me, and my teeth are clenching around the bar so tightly I think they will shatter.

Pain. Pain. _Pain_.

It stops as suddenly as it came, my body collapsing back onto the table as my muscles continue to spasm. I inhale sharply through my nose, trying to gasp for air around the gag in my mouth.

Then all of my attention goes straight to the small, icy fragment of darkness I can feel resting inside of my chest. I groan suddenly, lurching forward as much as I can against my bonds as it shudders beneath my skin. My breath catches in my throat as it begins moving, stretching, growing.

"Again."

My eyes widen, and I suck in a breath before the pain surges into me again, higher, more violently than before.

Eyes screwed shut, a scream tears from me as my back arches again, and all of my muscles seize and contract in agony. In seconds, my throat is completely raw from the force of my screaming. The pain is unbearable, each second feeling like hours as white hot energy courses through every part of my body.

And beneath it all, I can feel the icy blackness expanding, spreading beneath my skin.

The pain won't stop. Why won't it stop? I can't breathe, can't outscream the pain. I am on fire. I am turning to ice. I am shattering into a million tiny pieces.

_Make it stop._

The agony increases, growing sharper as the battle between fire and ice intensifies, crackling through my ravaged nerves and cramping muscles. I am burning alive and freezing to death all at once. I've run out of breath, but I'm still screaming. It's too much, _too much-_

There's a sudden, massive explosion, but it is impossible to tell whether it came from within me or around me.

Then everything stops, and the darkness takes me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who continues to comment on my story! Yes, I know I am a mean and horrible author. lol. I will try to post the next chapter very soon! Love hearing your thoughts!!!


	7. Black Hole Sun

**Chapter Seven: Black Hole Sun**

* * *

 

**Natasha Romanov**

"I got two on the roof. One sniper near the cliff face...and another on the ledge twenty feet up," I murmur, my gloved hands tightening around the thermal binoculars. Through them, I can see the heat signatures of the four men I've located from my vantage point in the snowy outcropping.

_"Bucky and I can take the ones on the rooftop. Stark, you got the others?_ " Steve's voice sounds off in my ear piece.

" _Yeah, hang tight there, soldier boy,"_ comes Tony's voice. " _We don't move until I say so."_

"Really? We're doing this right now?" It's an effort to keep the disbelief from my tone. "Hell of a time for a power struggle, Tony."

" _Jesus, that's not what I meant. I'm jamming their communications and the cameras so they don't alert the entire base that the Avengers are paying a visit. Stealth mode, remember? Just wait for my signal."_

Adjusting my binoculars, I can barely make out where Barnes and Rogers are moving in on either side of the white, narrow building nestled in between two monstrous peaks. Their uniforms are covered in thick, white camouflage, same as myself, making them almost impossible to see. Stark is nowhere in sight. How the hell he is hiding his eccentrically colored suit in the blindingly white terrain, I have no idea.

_"Got it. Let's move it or lose it, people."_

I rise in one fluid motion, dropping the binoculars into the snow as I curl my fist and raise my arm, aiming for the front right corner of the rooftop. With a deft twist, I fire a taser disc from the brace encircling my wrist, and watch as it embeds itself on the roof top's ledge, instantly emitting crackling blue electricity. Both of the guards atop the roof give shouts in surprise, turning and aiming their guns straight at it in alarm.

Amateurs.

I abandon my cover as Rogers and Barnes move in, and by the time I am racing through the snow towards the building, both of the guards are incapacitated. Glancing towards the cliff face, I notice both snipers have vanished. Iron-man swoops down from above, his suit rippling as camouflaging reflector panels alter to their original red and gold state. He carries both of the gunmen in his hands and drops them carelessly into a heap on top of the other two guards.

"I don't like this," I admit as I reach them, Barnes and Rogers stepping off the rooftop and landing with dull thuds into the snow. "Only four manning the perimeter? No bunkers or towers? Pretty lax security for an alleged highly classified facility."

There's a brief, horribly quiet moment where we all wonder the same thing. What if we are wrong, and the kid isn't here?

"All of the major bases have already been taken down," Steve says, his voice level and confident. "If they wanted to make sure they were never found, what better place than this? Smaller facility and fewer guards equal less attention."

"We need to move," Barnes says, discarding the white camouflage.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Stark replies tersely as Rogers and I follow suit, leaving the white outerwear in the snow. Tony moves to the door, but I intercept him, placing a hand on the icy metal of his suit.

"Ladies first," I remind him. "This time, wait for _my_ signal."

Stealth is not Stark's strength. In fact, the only one here who can rival me in that area is Barnes, but this situation calls for a woman's touch.

I enter the facility alone. Beyond the double doored entrance is a long, narrow hallway, empty of guards. They likely assumed that the men outside would be enough of an alert system. That, or they relied too much on their technology to safeguard them. Their mistake.

Just ahead of me, the hall branches off to the left, and as I move silently across the cement floor, I can hear voices speaking beyond it. Pressing myself against the wall at the corner, I wait and listen.

_"Wieso sind wir nie irgendwo warm untergebracht?"_ comes a disgruntled voice. " _Ich friere meinen Arsch ab."_

German, I realize. Hydra had expanded far beyond its German origins over the years, so if the majority of the men stationed here are all German, then it has to be one of the old factions, still trying to grasp any semblance of power that it can.

" _Hör auf zu jammern. Es ist eine Ehre, Hydra zu dienen, egal wie die Bedingungen sind_ ," another replies sharply.

I move, surging around the corner and kicking off the wall to leap up into the air. A Hydra agent turns as I land with both hands on his shoulders, pulling myself up to hook one leg over him as I drive both fists into his neck, releasing my tasers. He drops immediately, and I fall with him, using the momentum to somersault forward and land in a crouch. The remaining two whirl, gaping at me with wide eyes and open mouths.

" _Guten Abend, meine Herren_ ," I purr, before charging forward.

They raise their weapons, but I'm already too close, dodging under the first man's outstretched arm and jabbing upwards with my fist. His arm breaks with a loud crack, but before he can let out a scream, I sweep his legs out from under him and jam the taser attached to my wrists against his throat.

The second is smarter, and having realized his gun would be of no use in such close quarters, abandoned it for a long, wicked looking knife. He thrusts it at me as I spin to the side, seizing his wrist and driving my elbow straight into his face. The agent collapses, and before his body has even hit the ground, I am pressing a finger to the communicator in my ear.

"Way's clear, boys. Watch your step."

I scout the next hall as I wait for them to catch up, and it seems luck is on my side. The sounds of the fight have not attracted any unwanted attention.

"Christ, woman," Stark murmurs from inside his suit as the three make their way towards me. None of them bother to avoid stepping on the bodies of the agents I have left behind. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., get me a scan of the base."

Stark's A.I. only takes seconds to deliver a full scan of the entire facility now that we are actually inside of it.

"Okay," Tony takes command. "Natasha, the mainframe is located four levels beneath us. Think you can get there and start meddling? I want everything they have. _Everything_."

"Meddling is one of my specialties."

"You two are with me," he orders, already stalking down the hall. "We have holding cells and laboratories on levels six and seven. That's where we'll start. Natasha, meet us there when you're finished."

"This may be redundant, but I'm saying it anyways," I tell Steve before he follows. "Try not to attract attention for as long as you possibly can. Take down the hostiles quickly and silently. The longer we can keep our presence unknown, the better our chances will be of everyone getting out of here."

Rogers exchanges a look with Barnes. "You act like it's our first time infiltrating a Hydra base."

"I'm just saying we can't go in this guns a-blazing when we're missing several of our big guns," I say pointedly, then nod towards Stark. "Try and rein him in, if you can."

Steve snorts, both men turning to follow Tony down the hall. He glances back at me. "Why don't I rein in the sun while I'm at it?"

I shake my head and move in the opposite direction, picking up my pace. If I can get to the mainframe, I'll likely gain access to all the cameras in the entire facility, and can ensure that Stark doesn't go on a rampage that will get us all killed.

Another turn, and I find a short corridor ending with a windowed metal door, beyond which I can glimpse a sliver of a narrow stairwell. Perfect.

I've nearly reached it when a shadow passes behind the narrow pane of glass, and the door opens. The agent doesn't have time to reach for his weapon before I am on him, driving my knee into his rib cage and knocking the wind out of his lungs before gripping his arm and flipping him over my shoulder. His head meets the floor with a crack.

I don't bother hiding the bodies I am leaving behind me. There's no time for that, and between the four of us, we should be able to disable anyone heading for the higher levels of the facility before they can spot the damage we leave in our wake.

Entering the stairwell, I glance down, pausing to listen. It is completely silent, and there is no one in sight. Good.

Securing a line from my belt to the railing, I propel myself over it and freefall down the center of the winding stairs, counting the levels as I descend and halting the line as I reach sublevel five. I keep low as I slip onto the landing, and with a press of the hourglass symbol on my belt, the line retracts.

Easing my back to the door as I remain in a crouch beneath the thin window above me, my ears pick up the muffled sound of multiple voices and pairs of boots stomping on the concrete just beyond the door. It's impossible to tell how many, but if Stark's right about the mainframe being on this level, it's safe to assume there will be more guards than we've already encountered.

My guns remain untouched in their holsters. I can't risk the noise and attention firing them will bring. I will have to move fast.

I brush a lock of pale blonde hair away from my face, and then I am yanking open the door and storming the corridor. Two agents conversing in a doorway several feet away from me are the first to go down as I toss two taser disks at their feet. A third down the hall raises his gun at the same moment I raise my arm and fire another taser that attaches itself to the barrel of the weapon. Electricity crackles, disabling it and shooting painful currents up the man's arm that makes him drop to his knees.

I run forward, my boots slamming into the kneeling Hydra agent's shoulders to propel myself into the air where my legs wrap around the neck of the next guard. I let my upper body swing down, my thighs gripping him tightly as the momentum of my moving body flips him onto the ground.

Two more taser discs leave my hands, and they are left to writhe and convulse before falling unconscious. There's movement to my right, and I am forced to duck, then spin to the side as a Hydra agent lunges for me, fists swinging. Dodging his next punch, my back hits the wall, and I drop to my knees as his fist surges for my face. He cries out as his knuckles meet the unforgiving cement, and I yank his leg out from beneath him, driving my elbow down into his temple as his back hits the floor.

A click sounds off behind me, and I blindly spin, my leg kicking up and knocking a large gun from another agent's hand. I kick out again, my boot slamming into his groin, and as he doubles over, I thrust the heel of my hand up into his nose. He hits the floor head first, and then I am on my feet, fists raised for the next attack.

But it doesn't come. All the guards are down.

I glance back briefly at the hallway lined with bodies, before striding for a large set of doors labelled in German " _Nur klassifiziertes Personal_ ".

Readying my tasers, I draw in a breath and kick open the doors.

As they swing forward, I catch sight of the narrow room beyond them, lined on one side with a long desk crammed full of oversized consoles and monitors. The busy screens cast a pale blue glow on the two vacant chairs before them, both still spinning from the abrupt departure of their former occupants, now lying unconscious in the hall behind me.

I pause to pick up one of the guard's discarded rifles before moving into the room. Pulling the doors shut, I shove the long weapon through the wide door handles, effectively barricading the door and preventing any unwanted intruders.

A hand on the back of the nearest chair halts its spinning before I ease myself into it. I angle my head side to side, cracking my neck before deftly reaching into one of the slots on my belt and pulling out a drive, Stark's design, naturally, and inserting it into the console.

Tony wants everything? He is about to get everything.

My fingers are flying over the keyboard in front of me, bypassing the initial firewalls and security measures that pop up as I head straight for what I came for. Then something comes up that makes me pause, tilting my head ever so slightly. Interesting. The mainframe is protected by an A.I. They were prepared for something like this. Or at least, they believed they were. Stark's drive comes equipped with its very own A.I., in case of problems just like this one.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Care to lend a girl a hand?" I ask as I resume my own attempts to slip past it.

_"It would be my pleasure_ ," comes the slightly scottish lilt as Tony's A.I. joins the fray.

Hydra's security systems are no match for either of us, though its crudely constructed A.I. puts up a valiant effort, and as the minutes pass, it becomes completely disabled, allowing me to reach the files. I am able to access all of the information stored in this facility.

A glance proves the files to be encrypted. It doesn't matter. There will be plenty of time to crack them open later. What's important now is getting them onto the drive. Who knows what kind of information the files hold? If we're lucky, it will contain everything that has occurred in this facility, schematics for future plots we will have to unravel, maybe even the locations of any remaining bases, hide-outs or Hydra operatives that remain unaccounted for.

A few presses on the keyboard, and the download has started. My head whips to the side suddenly as the fluorescent lights in the hallway begin flickering, a deep, distant hum echoing through the cement floors and walls. Brows knitting together, my lips part as I realize something big is happening, something strong enough it can be felt throughout the entire facility, that it is straining the main generators. 

And I have a bad feeling that the kid is in the center of all of it. 

* * *

 

**Tony Stark**

 

"Here, hold this for a sec," I say as I toss the unconscious guard I am holding into a Hydra agent about to fire his gun at me, sending them both sprawling into an undignified heap.

Beside me, Cap ducks as an agent swings his fist towards his face, and as he rises, Rogers slams his foot into the man's chest, sending him careening into the wall before dropping to the floor. "Subtle, Tony. Very stealth mode."

"Yeah, stealth isn't really my thing," I reply shortly as another guard lunges for me, fists flying.

I grab him by his face, holding him in place as he keeps swinging wildly.

"Goddamn, you guys are eager little bastards, aren't you? Don't get much action way out here in the snow?"

"Like trying to rein in the sun," Rogers mutters behind me as he engages another soldier.

A body comes flying from my right, knocking the guard I am holding out of my grip as both drop to the floor. I shoot a glance towards Barnes as he comes stalking past me. "I had that."

"I know," is all he says as his metal fist drives into the last agent's temple.

My teeth clench together. One word. One little word is all it would take for me to make that metal arm of his punch Barnes right in his own, broody face. I don't say it. Not because I am a bigger man than that, I'm definitely _not_ , but because there's no time for it, not when the kid could be here, waiting for us.

Just around the corner are the holding cells, all lining the dingy hall with their thick metal doors like something out of a horror film.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., scan for any heat signatures," I command, not wanting to waste a minute checking every single cell.

" _System error. There is some compound lining the walls, causing interference. My sensors are unable to scan for heat signatures or any sign of life."_

Screw stealth.

I rip the first door off of it's hinges, revealing a cramped, narrow room that is utterly empty. No bench or cot, or even a waste bucket. The thought of the kid shoved into one of these…

Slams echo down the corridor as both Barnes and Rogers begin tearing open cell doors. I rejoin them, my heart rate rising with every empty room I uncover. Tension coils so tightly in my gut I can practically feel the ulcers forming, and sweat starts to bead on the back of my neck.

_"H-hey, Mr. Stark, I'm sorry to bother you, I mean, I know you're probably busy…"_

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

" _H-hey, Mr. Stark, I'm sorry to bother you…"_

My breath comes sharp and fast through my nose as my pace accelerates until I am moving like a bat out of hell.

" _H-hey, Mr. Stark…"_

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

I lunge for the next cell, but freeze in place as I stare at the already opened door.

Looking to my right, I can see Barnes and Rogers standing in place, grim expressions on their faces.

They're _all_ empty. The kid isn't here.

A dull ringing starts in my ears. I would tear through this entire place, search every corridor, every room, every damn closet and rip this facility from its foundations before I would admit that maybe we were wrong. He has to be here. He _has_ to be. But if he's not… God, if he's _not_ -

The fluorescent lights lining the corridor begin to flicker sporadically.

"Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.? What's with the light show?" I ask.

I can hear the hum of generators rise and lower in volume in unison to the flickering.

_"I'm detecting a massive surge of energy manifesting in sublevel eleven, four floors below. The generators cannot continue to sustain that level of power for much longer without draining all of their systems, including the lights."_

Rogers looks at me sharply, already thinking what I am. "The kid," he says tightly. "That's gotta be it."

I take off, shifting the majority of the suit's power to my thrusters. I don't wait for the others as I soar down the stairwell head first, pulling up sharply as I reach sublevel eleven.

My hands shoot up and blast through the door. Six Hydra agents are waiting for me. The two in front drop to the ground as I fire without warning, surging forward to seize a third by his neck. My left palm raises to blast into the fourth before he can shoot his weapon, and he crumples to the ground with a yell of pain.

Lights are still flickering, the periods of darkness lengthening with every second. I throw the agent I still have by the neck into the remaining two, shooting off a taser that tags all three of them at once.

That's when I hear it.

Beneath the undulating hum of the generators, muffled by the thick layers of concrete and reinforced metal doors comes the faint, unmistakable sound of someone screaming in absolute agony.

Blood rushes through my ears as those screams hit me right in my core.

I hear heavy thuds as Barnes and Rogers drop from the stairwell onto the landing behind me, but I am already accelerating down the hall as fast as the suit will take me, thrusting my hands forward at the last minute to blast through the massive set of double doors, crushing the two Hydra agents waiting just beyond them.

I pull up short, hovering midair as I enter the colossal room, and take less than a second to process the horrific sight before me. A startled bunch of scientists in white lab coats scatter at my entrance, parting enough for me to see what they had been gathering around.

_Peter_.

The kid is strapped to an upright table, a machine pressing in on either side of his head. His back is arched, and beneath his pale skin I can see all of his muscles and tendons are tense and straining. A rubber bar has been shoved between his teeth and strapped around his head. He is screaming at the top of his lungs, his eyes screwed shut, green light illuminating the tear tracks running down his cheeks.

I see _red_.

I lunge forward, raising my palm to blast a repulsor beam straight into the machine electrocuting the kid, destroying it instantly, and in seconds I am right in front of him, tearing the broken machine away in a screech of metal and scattering sparks.

It's chaos around me as Barnes and Rogers enter the room and start taking down both agents and scientists alike, but I can't focus on anything but the teenager I am freeing.

The kid immediately goes silent and limp the moment the machine is torn from him, his chin hitting his chest even as some of his muscles continue to twitch and spasm. My hands are already tearing at the thick, weighted straps pinning him down.

His body falls heavily forward, and I catch him, quickly easing him to the cement floor.

"Kid! _Kid_?"

Peter's eyes are closed, his skin whiter than the snow outside, and he doesn't move or make a sound as I carefully lift his head and remove the rubber bar from his mouth.

" _I am unable to detect a pulse_ ," F.R.I.D.A.Y. says urgently, then adds, " _Mr. Parker is no longer breathing."_

I freeze, my own heart and breath halting in my chest.

No. _No_. No _fucking_ way am I letting this happen.

"Defib, now," I order the A.I. There's a sharp whine as it charges within the palms of my gauntlets. "Charging to five hundred."

I place both hands on his unmoving chest, one slightly above and to the left of his heart, the other below and to the right. An icon on my face plate monitor alerts me that the defibrillator is fully charged. I inhale sharply-

Peter's eyes fly open just as his right hand shoots up to grip my gauntleted forearm. The metal instantly crumples like a tin can under his grip, and the bones in my arm strain painfully beneath the crushing gauntlet, but I don't notice the pain, I am so fixated on his eyes. 

They are entirely and impenetrably black.

My god, what have they done to him?

My mind goes blank with shock, and I am unable to look away from the stark contrast of the pitch black against the pale skin of his face. Blood begins to leak from one of his nostrils.

The kid suddenly gasps sharply, and as he does so, the darkness leaks away from his eyes like water washing away ink. Wide, glassy, warm brown eyes stare up at me as his grip on my gauntlet releases, his hand falling to the ground. Peter's chest is rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to catch his breath, panic lining his young features. His throat bobs as he swallows with a wince.

"Mr. Stark?" he rasps hopefully, his voice entirely hoarse, no doubt ripped to shreds from his screaming.

Ice shudders down my spine as the sound of my name snaps me out of the shocked trance I had fallen into. As I come back to myself, I become horribly aware of the pain throbbing hotly through my arm, sharp enough I have to bite back a hiss. I don't think it's broken, but damn, it hurts like hell. 

"Hey kid," I manage. I carefully wipe my expression of any pain, any terror I am feeling before raising my face plate. "It's me."

The instant he sees my face, the kid relaxes, practically melting into the floor as his eyes fall shut. A cowardly part of me is terrified of what they will look like when he opens them again.

His pale, chapped lips curve up slightly as he breathes, "H-hey. What…took you…so long?"

He's teasing. The kid is _actually_ teasing me as he lies on the ground of a Hydra facility after being tortured so violently his heart stopped. Though he says it lightly, the words slam into me with a fresh wave of guilty anguish, but I let out a huff of incredulous laughter instead of letting it show.

"You can blame Cap for that one. He insisted on stopping for souvenirs on the way in."

I stiffen as those eyes crack open, but they are mercifully still brown. "C-captain America's… here?"

There's movement in front of me, and I glance up to see Rogers standing just a few feet away, his eyes fixed on the kid's face, his expression unreadable. When his eyes meet mine, I know instantly from the tightening of his features that he had seen what I had. I give him the slightest shake of my head. _Later_.

"Yeah, I'm here," he says instead, moving to crouch beside the teenager on his other side. I quickly scan the room, noting the bodies of Hydra soldiers and scientists scattered across the floor. Barnes is by one of the large machines, holding a struggling old man by the throat.

I stand, my eyes boring into the scientist I recognize in an instant, as my blood begins to boil.

"No…no hard feelings…about me, kicking your ass…in Germany, right?" the kid says from where he lays at my feet.

I can hear Steve's smile in his voice as he replies, "No, kid. No hard feelings."

He's ok, I tell myself. The kid is ok. He's alive and breathing and joking with Cap. We made it in time. We found him.

None of these assurances calm the roaring in my ears or dull the rage simmering beneath my skin. I can see Muller's eyes through the cracked glasses adorning his face, and they are staring at Peter in something akin to reverence. My hands curl into fists, pain lancing up my arm from the movement, but it only fuels my need for violence, for retribution.

"Don't look at him," Barnes growls viciously, tightening his grip on the old man's throat. Muller gurgles, his gloved hands scrabbling at the soldier's metal arm.

"Tony," murmurs Steve, but I ignore him, stepping closer to the machines and the monster.

"Nat, what's the word on those files?"

_"I'm at eighty six percent. They're all encrypted, but the download is nearly complete."_

Good. "What did you do to him," I demand from the scientist, my voice like steel as I stalk forward.

Barnes loosens his grip on the man's throat so he can speak. Then the slimy little bastard has the nerve to laugh. Before I can say or do anything, the Winter Soldier snaps the scientist's wrist with a loud, sudden crack.

Huh. How 'bout that? The man read my mind.

Muller lets out a sharp cry of pain, his body stiffening as he tries to jerk away from Barnes.

" _Tony_ ," Steve says again, his voice laced with warning.

"I don't like repeating myself," I say icily.

The old man is wheezing as he opens his mouth to speak. "We have done…what others could not. We shall be…marked down in history…for our achievement here, today."

Barnes snaps his other wrist, and I am forced to speak over the scientist's agonized groans.

"Yeah, sorry, I should have been clearer. I don't like vague, holier-than-thou, 'I'm vastly superior' kind of answers either unless they are coming from me. Care to try again? Or do you want this guy to break something else?"

"Fools," Muller sneers, his lips curling. "You have come too late to stop us. We have made the greatest weapon this world has ever known. You have all just become _obsolete_."

" _I have the files,_ " Nat suddenly sounds off in our earpieces. _"I got everything."_

"Guess that makes _you_ obsolete," I tell Muller.

His eyes just have time to widen a fraction before Barnes slams his metal fist into the man's temple, and the doctor crumples to the ground in a lifeless heap.

"Tony!"

"What?" I snap, whirling back to face Rogers. My eyes fall on the kid, now raised to a half sitting position and leaning against Cap. Peter's eyes have fallen shut again, and even from here I can see how badly his body is shaking. The blood from his nose has trailed down over his cracked lips and across his chin.

"He's burning up," Steve says gravely.

Shit. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., get me his vitals."

_"Boys, we got a problem,_ " Nat's voice is tense.

"Not now," I snap again.

" _Yes, now,_ " she argues back, her voice breathless like she is running. " _Someone's rigged this base to blow. We have about ten minutes before everything goes to hell."_

Goddamn it. F.R.I.D.A.Y. speaks before I can even open my mouth, her voice strained with energy. _"Sir, due to the location of the facility being centered in the volcanic belt of the peninsula, if it detonates, the resulting explosion will set off a catastrophic chain reaction of both seismic and volcanic activity. The estimated loss of life would be in the millions."_

God _damn_ it. I meet Steve's eyes with a level look. "You and Barnes get the kid out, now."

"Tony-"

"Nat, please tell me you're already heading for the quinjet. We're going to need a pickup on the roof," I interrupt.

_"I've almost reached the top floor. ETA to the jet is six minutes."_

"Make it four."

"What are you going to do?" Rogers asks, his voice tense, his features strained.

"What I always do," I reply, dropping the face plate. "Improvise and hope to hell it works. Whatever happens, keep the kid safe."

Rogers looks like he wants to argue, but says. "I promise."

I fire up the thrusters in my boots, and then I am soaring out of the room. 


End file.
